


Together Looks Good When You're Alone Looks Good When You're Together

by ThePreciousHeart



Category: This is Spinal Tap (1984)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Comeback Album, Cuddling & Snuggling, Denial of Feelings, Headaches & Migraines, Idiots in Love, Late Night Conversations, Los Angeles, Love Confessions, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Meditation, Only One Bed, Phone Calls & Telephones, Rock Stars, Self-Indulgent, Sharing a Bed, Sickfic, Stomach Ache, Vomiting, but when are they not, in which David and Nigel are major drama queens, recording sessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28650261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePreciousHeart/pseuds/ThePreciousHeart
Summary: When the outbreak of a stomach virus disrupts the recording of Spinal Tap's latest comeback album, David St. Hubbins and Nigel Tufnel end up uncomfortably close to each other- as in, sharing a bed close. Eventually, they bridge the emotional distance as well.Or, Nigel & David would suck at social distancing.
Relationships: David St. Hubbins/Jeanine Pettibone, David St. Hubbins/Nigel Tufnel
Comments: 11
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For this fic, I've thrown out every semblance of canon following the film This is Spinal Tap, which includes every interview, guest appearance, and article the band has ever partaken in since 1984. If you've only ever seen the movie, this should read as canon-compliant. It's not that I hate the extended canon (I even borrowed a few elements from it), it's just that I couldn't work this fic into the established timeline.
> 
> Painfully-wordy title comes from the song "Me and Us" by Punch Brothers, which has nothing to do with Spinal Tap other than the fact it was in my head when I wrote this. Also, this fic is definitely not safe for the emetophobic.

_ Los Angeles, December 1984  _

“Darling, I don’t want you to worry. Everything is going great. Fantastic, even. There’s no tension between myself and the others at all.” 

“But I can’t help worrying,” Jeanine insisted, her voice soft on the other end of the phone. “Mercury’s in retrograde and my husband is all the way on the other side of the Atlantic without me. Who wouldn’t worry in a situation like that?” 

“I wish you wouldn’t—” David St. Hubbins cut himself off, reluctant to spark another discussion about how they weren’t married _yet,_ and _no_ he wasn’t dragging his feet, he’d just been so busy with the band that he hadn’t had time to consider it, but they could elope when he got back to England if that’s what Jeanine wanted... He resisted the urge to correct her about the Atlantic, too. If he reminded her that he was on the West Coast, the distance might upset her even more. 

“I’m fine, Jeanine, honestly. The album will be finished soon and I’ll be home for the holidays.” 

“Mmm.” Something in Jeanine’s voice suggested that she didn’t believe David, but she fortunately didn’t elaborate. “That’s a promise?” 

“Of course.” 

“Good.” Now Jeanine sounded a bit happier. “You tell Derek I said hello, all right? And tell Nigel—”

“I know,” David cut in. “I’ll tell him you said fuck off.” 

He could practically hear Jeanine rolling her eyes across the line. “Very funny.” 

“All right, love, I’ve got to go.” It was starting to get stuffy in the little office where David had tucked himself away, safe from those who might snoop on his private conversation. “We’re going out to dinner.”

“All right, have fun.” Her honeyed voice flowed through the receiver. “I love you.” 

“I love _you_. See you soon.” David replaced the phone in its cradle. He folded his arms across the desk’s surface and leaned forward, resting his chin on them. Without really meaning to, his laser-guided stare zeroed in on the phone. Something about these frequent conversations with Jeanine had steadily become... unfulfilling. Maybe it was the sheer fact that they’d become so frequent. Obviously David wasn’t going to complain about being in a committed relationship with such a very nice woman. And every second they spent together at home was a second well spent. It was just her calling every morning or evening, whether at the hotel or the studio, that was beginning to be... well... a chore. David hated to admit it, but that was how he felt. He much preferred her to call when the band was touring, anchoring his fluctuating mind with the sweetness of her voice. In his currently-stable position, the calls felt unnecessary. 

Derek and Nigel were waiting for David when he left the office, already cloaked in their jackets. Derek held David’s jacket in his outstretched hand.

“How is she?” Derek asked as David came forward to take his jacket. 

“Fine.” David shrugged, hardly keen to mention the J word in front of Nigel. Though he had to admit, Nigel had taken the whole Jeanine thing pretty well on their tour of Japan, putting up less of a fuss than Ian Faith had when he’d been begrudgingly coaxed into co-managing with her. Since then, David and Nigel had fallen into an unspoken arrangement- _I’ll do the work if you leave the girl at home._ So far it seemed to be a success, based on the lack of rude comments on Nigel’s part. Though he might have held his tongue because Jeanine wasn’t in the vicinity. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter to David, so long as it meant he had one less thing to stress about. 

“I wish Ian were here,” he remarked as he put on his coat. _There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say in a million years._ “We're meant to be eating out on his dime.” _And recording on his dime… and staying at the hotel on his dime…_ That was about the only reason to want Ian around. Spinal Tap had only taken him back as a manager because they’d figured they owed it to him, after he’d booked their Japanese tour. Plus, David had to admit that the band had faltered under Jeanine’s guidance (through no fault of hers). That didn’t necessarily mean that they wanted Ian, though. Since taking him back, they’d put him on a three-strike policy, which so far had kept him in line. 

“Maybe...” Nigel piped up, “it’s better that he’s _not_ here.” 

David side-eyed his friend. “What are you saying?” 

“Well,” Nigel said between gum-chomps, “it’s just like... we could run up a huge bill at the pub and make it out to him.” 

“Oh, sure,” Derek scoffed. “And that went over so well the _last_ time we tried it.” 

They stepped out the main doors into the fading Los Angeles sunlight. David always liked this time of day, watching the salmon-pink horizon deepen into a smoky charcoal gray. _If one ignores the light pollution, it’s a beautiful sight._ He wondered why New York was called the City That Never Sleeps, when Los Angeles was just as much of an insomniac. 

Spinal Tap’s pub of choice had been strategically chosen for its proximity to the studio. It also offered some smashing good food and a welcoming atmosphere, full of dim lights and dark wood and strong drinks. The band settled down at a round table in the corner by the window. Service was prompt, and the one providing it was young and blonde, which was enough to satisfy Derek. 

“I’ll see what we have on tap,” she said, in response to David’s inquiry into available brews. A smirk filled Derek’s face as he watched her bounce off. 

“You know what I’d like to be on Tap?” he murmured. 

“Yes, you want to tap her,” David wearily replied. “We get it.” _It’s not as if we’ve never heard that one before_. 

“You can’t be mad,” Nigel said. His blue-green gaze was as vacant as ever, as if he were observing events on a spiritual realm of which no one else could catch a glimpse. “You can’t be mad just because _she’s_ not here.” 

David sighed. “What Jeanine and I’ve got transcends the boundaries of sex.” Though he really wouldn’t mind some of that, too. The thought of seeing her in a week wasn’t cutting it. 

Once their food and drinks had arrived- a Greek salad for David, who was trying to embrace the vegetarian lifestyle; a burger for Derek, and a heaping plate of steak and fries for Nigel, alongside two pints of pale ale and a kale smoothie- the conversation turned steadily towards how the new record was coming along. Though David’s ears were numbed from hours of listening back to the day’s takes, he could still muster plenty of enthusiasm. The creative juices were flowing, and his synergy with Nigel had been unbeatable lately. _Quite a contrast from the last time we tried recording in America_. 

“I’ll say one thing.” Derek set down his burger, which now bore a huge bite mark, and leaned back into his seat. “Jimmy cut a great deal. He came in, he lay down the tracks like a pro, he got out before the week was over.” 

David nodded. “He’s a keeper, that one.” Certainly a step up from Mama Besser, who as far as anyone knew was still stumbling around Tokyo ranting about four-on-the-floor and clapping on the 1 and 3. Jimmy Bellevue had come highly recommended from several friends in the business, but David suspected he would have been hired anyway based solely on his talent. After listening to his demo tape, which demonstrated an uncanny ability to count in 4/4 time, the band determined him to be the best fit for their new lineup.

“Well, that depends on how long he’ll be kept,” Derek said

Nigel quietly hummed in agreement. “We might get a year out of him at most.” 

“Oh, come on.” David stirred his salad around the bowl. “We’ve taken precautions.” Precautions such as hiring a drummer who already lived near LA, having him record in a padded room without any sharp or flammable objects, and refusing to meet with him until every drum track had been recorded, lest the direct association with Spinal Tap tarnish his image. In fact, the band still had yet to meet Jimmy. _We’ll save it for the tour._ As far as David was considered, the deal was rather clever, and he didn’t understand why gossip columnists had wrung their hands over it- SPINAL TAP SNUBS NEW DRUMMER! _If they knew anything about our band, they’d consider it a sign of respect._

Digging his fork into the massive salad, David began to chow down. He’d only swallowed a few bites when Derek prodded his side. “Is it me, or the waitstaff, are they watching us?” 

Slyly David cast a glimpse towards the door marked KITCHEN- EMPLOYEES ONLY, around which a few servers loitered. Though they appeared to be conversing David thought he caught a few side-eyed glances his way. He gazed broadly back, offering a smile. Maybe they were looking out the window behind him, but he didn’t care. He’d get their attention.

Sure enough, the blonde server eventually retreated from the throng and headed over to Spinal Tap’s table, a young male server shadowing her. “Is everyone doing okay?” 

“We’re grand,” Derek assured her with a brief flash of the A-OK sign. 

“Hey,” the male server broke in suddenly, as if unable to control himself. “Uh... Are you guys Spinal Tap?” 

It took a hot second for the words to sink in, but when they did, the satisfaction was overwhelming. David glanced around the table, sharing a knowing smile with his bandmates. Now _this_ was a good sign. Spinal Tap hadn’t parted on good terms with the American market, so it was comforting to see they still had fans. _Well,_ a _fan_. 

“Yes we are,” David warmly responded, while Derek and Nigel nodded in synchronicity. He reached into his pocket, searching for a pen. “Would you like an autograph?” 

The server flushed. “Yeah... I was just wondering if you could, uh... sign _this_.” He produced a familiar foil-wrapped, oblong object and laid it on the table, right in front of Derek. The blonde server slapped his arm, biting her cheek to suppress her laughter. “Oh my god, Seth, you’re so bad!” 

“Very funny,” Derek muttered forlornly. 

“Yeah,” David added, seconds away from an eye-roll. “ _Very_ mature.” His hand tightened around his fork as heat stirred within him. _Damn Di Bergi for making us a laughingstock in front of our target audience..._

The male server- Seth- held up his hands, chuckling. “Hey, I’m not the one who stuck a cucumber down my pants.” 

“ _Seth!_ ” the other server cried, nearing hysterics. She grabbed his arm and dragged him off to the kitchen. 

“It was a zucchini!” Derek protested in their wake. 

“Oh, don’t listen to them,” David grumbled. He stabbed at an olive as if it were a bug to swat. _I bet they spit in our food, too._

“Jealous is what he is,” Nigel added. “That’s all it is- jealousy.” 

David raised his eyebrows. “Did he look like a musician to you?” 

“What’s that got to do with it?” 

“Well if he’s not a musician, what has he got to be jealous of?” 

“No,” Nigel insisted, “he’s jealous that- that _we_ got a fuck-you-mentary made about us, and _we_ were made to look like fools, and he wasn’t.” 

David’s brow furrowed. “Who’d want to be made to look like a fool?” 

“I dunno.” Nigel gave a blithe shrug. “ _He_ would.” 

“The girl seems nice, though,” Derek reflected. 

“Yes, well.” David popped the olive into his mouth. “All girls seem nice to _you_.” 

“Well, you know me.” Derek’s chest puffed in pride. “Once a ladykiller, always a ladykiller.” 

“But you’re the only one who ever said that,” Nigel pointed out. 

Derek’s face fell faster than a penny dropped from the top of the Empire State Building. “Still true, innit?” 

“Well, no,” Nigel said. He picked up a fry and twirled it between his fingers. “I mean, it’s not like anyone _agr-_ -“ 

“That steak looks delicious, Nigel, are you going to finish that or should I have it?” Derek interrupted loudly. It was an awkward diversion, but it did the trick. Nigel grabbed his utensils protectively and went back to slicing up the steak, intent on keeping it away from Derek’s mouth. David tried to go back to eating, but he wasn’t left with much of an appetite after the disrespect the servers had shown him. He simmered quietly in his seat, searching desperately for a mood-booster. 

“I’ll say another thing,” he announced at last, once Derek and Nigel were halfway through their meals. “I think this is our best batch of songs since _Smell the Glove_.” 

“Well, it’s our only batch of songs since _Smell the Glove_ ,” Derek said. 

“Well, that may be true, but...” David glanced to Nigel for backup, though asking Nigel to help clarify his thoughts was like asking an ocean to stop making waves. “Something is present which wasn’t there on our last record. Some sort of energy.” Jeanine might have been able to label and define that energy, but being less well-versed in such matters, David was happy to simply enjoy it. He doubted Nigel could put it into words either, but from the way Nigel’s eyes lit up, he knew that his friend understood what he was referring to. Perhaps even felt the same way. 

“It must be something in the water,” Derek said. “I think the two of you are really reaching your creative peak. I mean, writing a sequel to ‘Big Bottom’ was a stroke of genius.” 

“Yeah,” Nigel said absently, a faraway look in his eye. “‘Bigger Bottoms.’” 

“Do you think we should add ‘And Better’ to the title?” Derek asked. “Just to make our point clear?” 

“Well, we don’t want to bash anyone over the head with it,” David said. “Bigger doesn’t necessarily mean better.” 

Nigel whistled. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you! Mr. I Like Big Bums and I Cannot Lie...” He reached across the table to tweak David’s cheek, a shining, pesky grin on his face. David slapped him away as if he were a mosquito, chuckling. “What are you doing?” He hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt. As irritating, demanding, and downright childish as Nigel could be... David couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed being around him. 

“The one about the divas is great too,” Derek continued. “And ‘America’ ’s sounding better than it ever did when we played it on tour.” He leaned forward, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye and a wicked grin pulling his mustache up. “The center is back.” 

“Yes!” Nigel suddenly shouted, his fist landing on the table. “That’s what it is! The center is back!” He extended two fingers across the table toward David, a cheerful grin lighting his face and his jaw working crazily on the gum he’d just popped back into his mouth. Somehow, after nearly thirty years, David hadn’t gotten tired of that grin one bit. He mirrored it as he stuck out his own fingers, connecting with Nigel in a perfect Squatney handshake. 

Sure, Mercury was in retrograde. But David couldn’t imagine that Jeanine’s fears were based anywhere in reality. Spinal Tap were hot, their album was shaping up to be one of their greatest, and best of all, the work had brought him and Nigel back together as if the disastrous fraying of their relationship during the last American tour had never happened. Nothing could possibly go wrong between them now.


	2. Chapter 2

As a wide-eyed child with a ravenous hunger for all things musical, David’s favorite fantasy in which to indulge had been the process of making a hit record. He’d go into the studio with a bunch of his mates and jam until they produced a work of solid gold. It hadn’t taken very long for the reality of this fantasy to sink in. For starters, very little jamming occurred in the studio, unless the band wanted to squander their entire savings to the engineers. Furthermore, there was no telling whether a record would turn out to be gold. More often than not, Spinal Tap were the last to know if it was. And finally, the actual minutes spent playing music were nothing compared to the hours and hours of editing, mixing, and asking if _surely there’s a better take somewhere, don’t you think?_ _Because the one we did last night didn’t sound anything like THIS piece of crap..._

Such words had sprung to David’s lips more often tonight than any other night of the recording process. That was always how it went when reviewing vocal takes. Though he normally preferred to partake in this activity alone- _maybe_ with Nigel there to review his harmony parts, and that was a big maybe- it seemed that no one else had gotten the memo. Derek sat on the couch at the far end of the room, idly tuning his bass, while Nigel hovered over David’s shoulder, just close enough for David to reach out and touch him if he wanted. Perched in a chair at the soundboard beside their engineer- Tammy somebody- David tried to will the presence of his bandmates to fade into the background. Listening back to bad takes was a lot like standing in front of them in only his underwear. 

“Don’t you have one where I sound like an actual human being?” David groused, fighting the urge to cringe as his falsetto came into play. “Not a bloody chipmunk?” 

The engineer rolled the tape back, a sound that always grated on David if he heard it too many times in one day. “Actually, I have you on the recording claiming that we didn’t need to do another take because you’d nailed the last one.” 

“But that was before I _heard_ it,” David protested. 

“Hey—” For a moment David thought Nigel was interrupting to warn him not to spar with Tammy Somebody, but the comment he made was completely unrelated. “Is this air conditioning bothering anyone else?” 

David turned in his seat to face Nigel, as did Tammy. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s cold, innit?” To prove his point, Nigel wrapped his arms around himself. His leather jacket was zipped up all the way, and his movements were lethargic, as if the cold air of which he’d spoken had frozen him. 

“Can you turn down the air?” Derek asked Tammy. 

Tammy frowned. “It’s on the lowest setting.” 

Casting his gaze across the room, David spotted an afghan draped across the back of the couch. He gestured to it. “There’s a blanket over there if you want it, Nige.” 

Without another word, Nigel turned and went over to the couch. David watched him carefully as he pulled the afghan over his shoulders. It was strange for Nigel to be so subdued while recording, but then again, they were all tired, having spent the last few hours working on take after take and listening back to what they’d just created. 

Tammy rolled the tape again, and once again David was confronted with his own silver-throated singing. He tried not to make a face at his phrasing. Over the years, he’d honed his voice to near perfection, but there was a reason he didn’t often listen back to Spinal Tap’s older records. Playing the tape over and over did nothing but reveal subtle flaws that David never would have noticed on the first take. _Thank god Nigel’s harmonizing with me on this._ Singing with another person helped cushion what he wouldn’t dare to call self-doubt. _Just a mild identity crisis, nothing to see here._

“That’s nice,” he said vaguely, without really paying attention. “Can we, um... roll that back and maybe hear it with just the vocals?” 

“ _Just_ the vocals?” Tammy raised her eyebrows. 

“Yeah,” Derek replied from across the room. “It’s called _a cappella_ \- maybe you’ve heard of it?” 

Tammy blew air through her nose. “Give me a moment...” She fiddled with the controls until reaching a level that she deemed appropriate. David had to admit, as Spinal Tap’s first woman engineer, she was certainly proving her mettle. And to their credit, neither Nigel nor Derek had ogled her, even though she had a pretty nice pair. David supposed that was a sign of maturation. 

Nigel and David’s isolated vocals came soaring out of the speakers, automatically relaxing the muscles in David’s back. The harmonies lifted his pithily-delivered lead into an ethereal whirlpool. “Yes!” David leaned forward, the better to bask in the recording’s glory. “That’s it! You could rest your head on that one.” 

“Like a pillow?” Tammy dryly suggested. 

“ _Exactly._ ” David turned in his seat. “Nigel, what do you think?” 

Nigel didn’t appear to have heard David. In fact, he didn’t appear to have heard anything that had just been said. He huddled up in his blanket, staring glassily into space. The flashing lights of the tape machine cast a sickly pallor onto his skin. 

“Nigel?” David got up and walked to where Nigel was sitting on the couch. Derek leaned in, studying his unresponsive face. 

“He’s gone a bit green, hasn’t he?” he murmured. 

Nigel gazed helplessly upwards as David took him by the shoulders to confirm the statement. He didn’t bat David away or tell him to let go. A sense of unrest turned David’s stomach as he observed him. 

“Yeah,” he said to Derek. “Yeah, vermillion.” 

“Don’t be silly,” Derek scoffed. “Vermillion is red.” He gestured to the hapless Nigel. “Do you see him blushing?” 

David let go of Nigel, momentarily sidetracked. “It’s not red. It’s green. Where did you get the idea that it wasn’t?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Derek said with a shrug. “I’m only repeating what my mum taught me. Besides, even if vermillion _is_ green, I wouldn’t call _that_ vermillion.” Again he gestured to Nigel. “He looks more like a bowl of split pea soup that’s gone cold on the counter because you’ve been waylaid by a distressing telephone call and you haven’t had time to—”

At once, Nigel jumped out of his seat and rushed from the room, leaving David and Derek dumbfounded in his wake. 

“Oh, come on, mate, we were only talking about your complexion.” David ran his fingers through his hair. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist...” 

“I... don’t think that’s the problem,” Derek ventured. 

“Well, what’s the problem?” _What’s Nigel doing interrupting a perfectly good studio session?_ David hoped this was just one of Nigel’s eccentricities coming out to play, rather than a portent of impending doom. He waved his hand in Derek’s direction. “Would you go and find out...” 

“Sure.” Derek obediently hopped up and left the room, following Nigel’s path. Over her shoulder, Tammy observed the scene without emotion. “You know if you call it quits for the night, you’ll still have to pay for the full session.” 

David dismissed Tammy with a shake of the head. “They’ll be back.” Well, Derek would be back, anyway. He breathed deeply and did his best to ignore Jeanine’s words knocking around his head- _But I can’t help worrying… Mercury’s in retrograde… who wouldn’t worry in a situation like that..._

After several excruciatingly long minutes had passed, Derek reappeared in the doorway of the control room. His long face immediately put David on edge. 

“He’s not well.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“He’s throwing up in the loo.” Derek spoke as if he were recounting the weather forecast. “Nasty stuff.” 

“Wha—” Now it was David’s turn to hurry out of the room, down the hall, and to the right, where he knew the bathroom was located. Not hearing any noise from within, he rapped on the door. “Nige! Nigel. It wasn’t the sushi, was it? You didn’t have any of that sushi they delivered for lunch?” 

“No,” came the feeble response, followed by a groan that seemed to come straight from the depths of Nigel’s stomach. “It wasn’t the sushi.” 

“Are you sure?” David said, his brow furrowing. “Because sometimes they put bugs in it. It’s disgusting, I don’t know how people can eat that...” He himself hadn’t partaken in the Japanese takeout, as it was a bad experience in Tokyo that had led to his embracing of vegetarianism. Come to think of it, Derek was the only one who’d wanted it, and the only one who’d eaten it upon its arrival. And he wasn’t the one who was currently doubled over a toilet bowl.

No verbal response followed, but the unmistakable sound of vomiting carried through the door. David backed away, grimacing. He tried to recall the last time Nigel had been sick like this. Probably that time on their tour in support of _The Sun Never Sweats_ , when he’d picked a fight with a curry chicken sandwich. The problem had announced and resolved itself in between shows, so there had been no reason to worry. But this was an entirely different matter.

“Nigel.” The sound of approaching footsteps jerked David away from the door. He moved aside to let Derek address the bathroom’s unseen occupant. “Did you have any of that sushi for lunch?” 

“We’ve been through that,” David snapped. 

“Well—” Before Derek could get another word out, the door creaked open. A disheveled-looking Nigel slouched before his bandmates, a dazed look in his eyes and one hand clutching his stomach. In the full lighting of the hallway, his skin looked even paler than usual, and David spotted a bead of sweat on his brow. 

“I think...” Nigel paused to collect himself, his tongue swiping across his lips. “I think I ought to go home.” 

“Back to the hotel?” Derek said. 

“No.” Without warning, Nigel sank to the floor. To David, the action resembled a time-lapse of a wilting flower. He didn’t hesitate in joining Nigel on the floor, reaching out to him. Nigel was unresisting as David pressed his hand against his forehead. The heat of his skin caused him to draw back.

“Sorry, mate,” he said softly. “I don’t think we’re going home for a while.” Not until Nigel was better, and not until the album was finished. It looked as if their stay in America would have to be extended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next on Monday: David deals with some tedious phone conversations, and Nigel immediately goes stir crazy.


	3. Chapter 3

David was waiting at the hotel bar by the time Derek returned from dropping Nigel off, first at the doctor’s, and then his hotel room. He and Derek had expected Nigel to put up a fuss when Derek broke the news that no doctors made house calls in this day and age, but Nigel had proven surprisingly agreeable. They'd left David at the studio to apologize profusely to Tammy (but not before writing her a fat check). Now he was nursing the same cocktail that he’d ordered an hour ago, scowling at the bartender whenever she came by to suggest that he finish up. The drink was more for effect than anything, really. As Spinal Tap’s frontman, he’d become an expert at presenting an image without indulging- as well as indulging without giving thought to his image. The two weren’t very different; it was simply a matter of how much self-respect he possessed.

Nigel had seemed meek and unsteady as he and Derek headed for the elevators, a far cry from his typical onstage bravado. The image remained in David’s mind even as Derek suggested phoning up Ian. Breaking the bad news was not a particularly desirable task, but since Ian was ostensibly paying for both the recording sessions and their accommodation, it was only fair to keep him in the know. Reluctantly, David followed Derek to the nearest phone and waited as Derek dialed, holding the receiver between them so that they could both speak at once. 

“I told you that you shouldn’t have gone to America during the flu season,” Ian said once the information had been digested, although what David recalled him saying was “You can go to LA any time because the seasons never change; how about December?” 

“Well, it’s just a stomach flu,” Derek said. “It’s not...” 

“Influenza,” David finished. He peered into the depths of his glass, wishing like hell that he wasn’t sober. Really, any kind of flu seemed cause for concern, given that David had never contracted such a thing. The regular crud that came from being whisked from five different tour stops in one week and having to perform his heart out at every one of them, sure. It was normal to feel a bit run down by the end of it. But Nigel’s situation was a complete mystery. 

“The doctor said it could last a few days up to a week,” Derek explained. “We’re going to need more time if we’re looking to have this album wrapped up by the new year.” 

“And how much have you got to record?” Ian asked. 

Derek looked to David, releasing a held breath. “Er, I’d say... just the guitar overdubs? Plus Jackson’s stuff, but we needn’t worry about him.” 

“Just the guitar?” Ian repeated. “Then there’s no problem!” 

“Well yes, there  _ is _ a problem,” David cut in, “because our guitar player has currently taken to bed, ill.” 

He could almost hear Ian frowning as he puzzled out the dilemma. “Are you sure that doctor was reliable? I shared a flat with a doctor once—” 

“Oh, lucky _ you.” _

Ian ignored the comment. “All I’m saying is, I like to think I know what I’m talking about when it comes to the medical field.” 

Snideness leapt out in David’s words, though he’d been told it was ill-becoming. “Ah yes, because the man with the office and the certificate is  _ so _ much less trustworthy than the one who once spent a whole day telling us ‘it’s nothing!’ before keeling over with a 104 degree fever.” 

“It was summertime and we were in the tropics!” Ian defended himself. “ _ You  _ try diagnosing yourself under those conditions.” 

At last Derek broke in with a rather reasonable inquiry. “So what are we going to do?” 

Ian didn’t miss a beat. “Well the first thing we  _ should _ do is call Jimmy up and see how he’s faring. Ensure that there’s no fever, chills, aches or pains—“ 

“What, you think this is some sort of synchronized event?” Laughter infused David’s voice, but inside he was beginning to boil. “A butterfly flaps its wings and kills our drummer?” 

“Stranger things have happened...” Derek mused. “To us, anyway.” 

The assessment was fair, but David couldn’t keep a handle on his annoyance any longer. “Jimmy is not the problem right now! Nigel is.” He spread his arms, gesturing at the telephone as if Ian could see him. “Am I the only one who’s the  _ least _ bit concerned?” 

“Of course I’m concerned!” Ian’s voice crackled over the line. “I’m concerned for Nigel’s health, but I’m not concerned about the album.” 

“But we can’t finish the album without Nigel, can we?” David countered.  _ And we certainly can’t finish it before the year’s over _ . 

“That’s what I’m getting at!” Ian erupted. “Surely you know his parts, David.” 

It only took a minute for David to realize what Ian meant. “Oh sure, replace Nigel. That’s fine, he’s only the  _ fucking lead guitar player! _ ” 

The shout resounded through the air and disappeared into the receiver. David huffed a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to maintain his composure. _Fucking hell_. They should have never brought Ian back, no matter how grateful they were to him _._ _Should’ve financed the sessions ourselves._

“I understand you’re upset, but there’s no reason to take your frustrations out on me,” Ian said primly. “I had nothing to do with this.”

“ _This_ time,” David muttered, dropping his hand and glancing futilely up at the ceiling. Maybe if he stared hard enough, some greater power would reveal itself and make everything right in one grand sweep. 

“He’s just tired,” Derek interjected, trying to let David off the hook. “We both are. It’s been a long day.” He fixed David with a look that David was pretty sure either meant  _ go calm down and I’ll meet you at the bar _ , or  _ move out of the way, you’re blocking the fire exit _ . Guessing it was the latter, David turned away, his anger gradually turning to steam. 

Why was it that every time- every single _ fucking _ time things looked to be on an upswing, when all signs pointed to success and no amount of pessimism could rock David’s foundation- why were  _ those _ the moments that it all seemed to unravel, like plucking a loose thread from a poorly knit sweater? David would have much preferred everything to go wrong when he  _ was _ expecting it. If he’d just received word that his aunt had passed, or that his dog had run away, or if the band had just released a single to the thunderous sound of silence,  _ then _ it might have been okay for a virus to remove Nigel from the equation. But it wasn't okay now, not when they only had a few more days of recording left to do. Not right before Christmas. 

David doubtfully eyed the glass in his hand. If only he had something stronger to drink, maybe he could bear his frustration. But if he broke his sobriety, he’d only have himself to blame. He sipped on his gin-and-tonic-without-the-gin and glowered at the bartender, who paid him precisely no mind.  _ Probably seen it all before. _

A few minutes after David had drained his glass, from no desire of his own, Derek returned to his side. He sat down on the barstool next to David and nodded to get the bartender’s attention. “So. What  _ are _ we going to do?” 

David exhaled, clenching his fingers around his empty glass. “Well, talking to Ian was of no fucking help.” 

“Yes, well.” Derek pointed to David’s glass and gave the bartender a thumb’s up. “That’s to be expected.” 

“I just wish... things could go  _ right  _ for us, for a change.” David’s hair fell into his face as he looked down. 

“They’ve gone right before,” Derek assured David. He patted his shoulder. “The tides will turn.” 

David shook his head, unwilling to accept Derek’s blind positivity. “Maybe we shouldn’t make this album.” 

“Why not?” 

“It could be a sign.” David turned to Derek. “This could be the universe’s way of saying,  _ too bad for you! You don’t deserve nice things _ .” He swallowed and looked away, at a loss for what he’d done to offend the universe lately. 

“This isn’t a permanent setback,” Derek argued. “Nigel will be back on his feet in a couple of days. It will be worth it, even if we have to stay until Christmas.”

David sighed, folding his hands in his lap. “How  _ is _ Nigel, anyway?” 

“Been better,” Derek replied. “Mostly quiet. He didn’t even complain when I phoned for a taxi to take us back instead of a limo.” 

David frowned. Nigel definitely wasn’t well if he couldn’t find something to whine about. “What about when you took him up to his room?” 

“He went straight for the toilet and I haven’t heard from him since,” said Derek. “I left the stuff the doctor gave him on the nightstand.” 

“What sort of stuff?” David hadn’t been aware this was an illness that could be treated with medicine. 

“Oh, just some generic painkillers,” Derek answered. “Something to bring his fever down. I’m sure he’ll be all right.” 

“I know,” David murmured. 

“You don’t have to worry—” 

“I’m  _ not _ .” The bartender came to give Derek his drink, and David waited until she had departed before speaking again. “I know Nigel will be fine, it’s just— the record.” 

Derek hummed sympathetically. “We’ll get in there and take a look at it tomorrow. Put some finishing touches on it so that Nigel’s parts are all we need to record once he’s well.” 

“We could call Jackson,” David mused half-heartedly. “If he’s in town.” They hadn’t been planning on adding keyboard parts to the album until after the holidays, but, well.  _ Plans change. _

“He’s in town,” Derek confirmed. “I’ll phone him up tonight.” 

“All right.” David got up from his seat and addressed the bartender. “I’m going up for the night. Put it on his tab.” 

“Hey—” Derek spluttered. 

“It’s all right, mate, it was just water.” Tonic water, but David doubted they’d charge. Ordinarily he would have added a shit-eating grin to his words, but tonight he didn’t feel like it. He took leave of Derek and trod off to wait for the elevator. On his own, the vision of Nigel that he’d seen earlier that night swelled unbidden into his head. It was rather disquieting, seeing him looking so weak. Briefly David wondered if he ought to check up on him.

But that was ridiculous, because he  _ wasn’t  _ worried about Nigel. Just the record. Who wouldn’t be? 

God, he needed some rest.

* 

Still waters did not run deep in the St. Hubbins family, mainly because the waters had never been still in the first place. David had figured out a long time ago that he only needed to be introspective enough to write songs. Everything else was trivial and hardly worth his time. 

So when he reached his hotel room, all that dominated David’s mind was the urge for a nice hot shower and a fresh pair of sheets. It appeared as if a maid had been by while he was away, tucking in his rumpled bedcovers and changing out the bathroom towels. David tried not to think about what a black light could reveal as he gazed longingly at the bed. True to his character, Ian had managed to finagle three rooms in LA for the cheapest price imaginable, just decent enough so that his luxurious clients wouldn’t fuss, but nothing close to what stars of Spinal Tap’s caliber deserved. Still, despite the cramped living quarters, the questionable hygienic practices, and the crap TV programs, the hotel had been David’s home for the last two months. Love it or hate it, he couldn’t leave it. 

David took great pleasure in brushing his teeth, showering, and dressing in his warmest silk pajamas, the ones Jeanine had bought for him with the constellations mapped out on them. He made a hat out of a towel and wrapped his long hair in it, before sinking down into the mattress, easing his weary bones. At first, the bliss of lying down was all he could focus on. If there was any reason to be glad that Jeanine hadn’t accompanied him on his trip to America, it was that David now got the whole bed to himself. Slowly he guided his thoughts down a more spiritual path. Meditation tended to calm him and clear his mind, settling him naturally into his regular sleep pattern. 

_ Breathe _ . Resting his hands on his stomach, David exhaled deeply. This was better when he had someone like Jeanine to share it with, but he’d managed just fine without her in the months he’d been away. His eyes closed and his body stilled, its only movement coming from his lips as he silently mouthed the mantra that Jeanine’s personal guru had given him a while back. Meditation afforded him the opportunity to be everything and nothing at once, and if he could just clear his mind— 

_ Nigel! Is he all right, he’s bound to go mad in that little room all by himself, he must be having a miserable time _ — 

_ No _ . David mentally shook himself. Nigel didn’t exist on the spiritual plane he was striving to visit. David St. Hubbins didn’t even exist. There was only the slow, steady rhythm of his pulse, and the two syllables of his mantra, and  _ that was it _ . As David refocused, his surroundings dropped away. The hotel room dissolved into nothingness, the hum of the air conditioner in the corner an inconsequential sound. Released from his earthly trappings, David began to float- only to slam back to Earth with a resounding  _ thunk _ .

_ The album!  _ God, they weren’t going to finish the album in time, and he'd so wanted to be home by Christmas, to see Jeanine and his family and to actually have something to back up his boasts about what wonderful work he’d done in Los Angeles, something for the critics to chew on so they wouldn’t write Spinal Tap off as a bunch of idiots who got big on a fluke... 

_ Shut up! _ ! David snapped his eyes open, angry enough to spit. Why wasn’t this working? It wasn’t as if his problems were so cataclysmic that they took precedent in his consciousness. If matters were  _ that  _ serious, he wouldn’t even have the free time to meditate. So what was going on? Why couldn’t he just... fucking... relax... 

Just as David was preparing to start again, the phone rang. He passed his hand along his face.  _ Please let it be Derek _ . Maybe he was calling to confirm that Jackson was in for tomorrow. David didn’t think he could handle any more bad news. 

He sat up and picked up the phone. “Hello?” 

“David.” Jeanine’s voice was a balm to David’s soul. “How are you, love? You forgot to call me last night.” 

_ Oh _ . David sighed and leaned back against the freshly-fluffed pillows, rubbing his temples. “Did I? I’m sorry. How are you, Jeanine?” 

“I’m fine. Just got up.” David could picture her back home at their shared residence, curled up in the leather easy chair by the fireplace. He wondered if she’d ever lit a fire in it, and made a mental note to remind her that the chimney was just for show. “Now that they’ve got my Christmas display up at Maximum Lemon, things have been a bit of a bore. Yesterday I did a reading on an old lady in the neighborhood.” 

“Oh?” David said, because he really didn’t care about the old lady, but he didn’t want to brush off Jeanine. “How was that?” 

“Well, she didn’t draw any Death cards at all, so she’s happy enough,” Jeanine replied. “Anyway, enough of my blathering, how was your session?” 

“Er.” The promptness with which Jeanine had transitioned into a new subject left David mentally recalibrating. “Well, it didn’t exactly... go as planned.” 

Concern immediately filled Jeanine’s voice. “What happened?” 

David sighed, rolling his eyes upwards. “It was Nigel. It’s not what it sounds like! He... he got sick.” 

“Did he?” David couldn’t tell if the cursory note of interest in Jeanine’s voice was her suppressing her worry, or if she was trying to bring herself to care. Knowing Jeanine, it could go either way. “What was wrong?” 

“Oh, it’s some kind of flu...” David trailed off, unsure of what to say next. He was on the verge of venting his frustrations, but a pressing realization stopped him. Here he was all hung up over the album’s delay, but Jeanine would be more likely to worry that she wouldn’t get to spend the holidays with her… boyfriend? Fiancé? Both words put an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of David’s stomach. 

“Darling, I want you to promise...” David covered his eyes, deeply grateful that Jeanine wasn’t in the room. “I want you to promise you won’t be upset with what I’ve got to tell you.” 

“What is it?” Already Jeanine sounded as if she were upset, which deepened David's reluctance. “David. Did something go wrong with the album?” 

“Well, it’s just—”  _ Might as well bite the bullet and admit it _ . David opened his eyes. “Nigel won’t be ready to record for a few days, which means we’ve got to stay in LA for at least another week. I might not be home for the holidays.” 

There was silence on the end of the line. David was afraid that Jeanine had put the phone down and walked away, until she heaved a noisy sigh. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you go alone.” 

David shook his head, though he knew he wasn’t visible. “Believe me, Jeanine, it’s better this way.” He knew full well that Nigel’s goodwill towards Jeanine could only hold for so long. 

Sharp accusation pierced Jeanine’s words. “So you mean to say you’d rather spend Christmas without me?” 

“No!” David sat up straighter. “I don’t mean  _ that _ , it’s just— the arrangement, you know.” 

If Jeanine were there, David was certain she would have narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Nigel was fine when we were in Japan.” 

Only David’s respect for Jeanine held him back from barking  _ oh, forget Japan.  _ She just didn’t understand the intricacies of the band’s inner workings. In order to succeed as songwriters, the Tufnel-St. Hubbins duality had to be maintained. Japan had worked because they’d been performing, not writing, and Jeanine had taken more of an “I’m with the band” approach than a managerial one. But while David wouldn’t have admitted his doubts to Jeanine’s face, he just couldn’t trust that the tenuousness of their relationship wouldn’t snap in a studio setting. He didn’t think he’d ever understand the tension between them, but he knew better than to exacerbate it. 

“That was then, love,” David tried to console Jeanine. “This is now.” 

“Couldn’t I at least come out and join you for the holidays?” Jeanine insisted. “I can cancel all my appointments and be on the first plane this afternoon. I’ll bring my crystals—” 

“Nigel is ill,” David interrupted. “I don’t think your presence is the antidote he needs.” 

“Well—” Jeanine broke off. In David’s mind’s eye, he could see her pursing her lips. “What have you got left to record?”

David wasn’t sure if he liked where this was going, but he replied truthfully. “Just the guitar overdubs and keys.” 

“Why don’t you come home, then?” Jeanine suggested. “If you only need to record the guitar...” 

“And leave Nigel here?” David couldn’t help but force back an incredulous laugh. 

“Well, why not?” Jeanine sounded vaguely miffed. “You weren’t even at the studio when Jimmy Whatsit did all those tracks for you.” 

“That’s different,” David insisted. “He’s a drummer. He doesn’t  _ count _ .” 

“But he’s part of the band.” 

“For now!” David felt like getting up and pacing the room, but he knew the phone’s cord wouldn’t stretch far enough. “It’s different with Nigel. You saw how well it went when we tried to replace him the one time.” 

“Oh, don’t bring that up again,” Jeanine scoffed. “I thought his replacement did a marvelous job.” 

Again the snarky words hung in the air-  _ well, you WOULD say that _ \- but again, David refrained from voicing them. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand.  _ I should have been asleep half an hour ago _ . This was no time to reopen old wounds. 

“I just don’t feel comfortable leaving Nigel to fend for himself.” 

“And I don’t feel comfortable spending the holidays without you,” Jeanine countered. “It’s not good for you to be on your own right now, David. It’s a fragile time of year, and I don’t just mean seasonally. I'm speaking astrologically, you know.”

David tightened his grip on the telephone.  _ You could say that you miss me _ . He didn’t understand why there always had to be some sort of cosmic explanation for the way Jeanine was feeling. It was never  _ I’m worried about you because you’re so far away from me _ , or  _ I don’t think you should do this because you deserve better _ . Instead, all he ever got was  _ I’m worried about you because Mercury’s in retrograde _ , or  _ I don’t think you should do this because the time isn’t right. Listen to the universe for a sign. _ Unfortunately, Jeanine seemed to be the only one receiving signs lately. 

“Jeanine... I love you. I do.” David’s voice took on a hushed quality. “I love you and I miss you and I’d do anything to be with you right now, except that I can’t, all right? I promise, the instant this bloody album is finished, I’ll be on my way home to you.” 

“All right.” Though Jeanine sounded resigned, David had the odd sense that she’d won this round. “In the meantime...” Her voice became a coquettish purr. “I know something that will make you feel better.” 

“Huh?” 

The sugar in Jeanine’s voice could have flavored a cup of tea. “I’m wearing my green kimono, David, and nothing but...” 

“Oh!” David exclaimed. “I- I’m sorry, love. Not tonight.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m really not in the mood.” Coming home to Jeanine’s warm arms was one thing, but  _ coming  _ to Jeanine’s warm voice left something to be desired. Though it had yet to fail him, David’s hand was no substitute for Jeanine’s, or Jeanine’s lips... or her other lips... Well, okay, maybe he was somewhat in the mood. But it was an aimless, empty hunger, not a specific desire that urged him to seek relief from the woman he loved. 

“I don’t want to keep you too long,” David said, switching gears. “You’ve got a whole day ahead of you.” And his, thankfully, was just ending. 

“Oh, don’t be silly.” A smile was evident in Jeanine’s voice. “Talking to you is never a chore.” 

“All right, well.” David racked his spent brain for something equally charming, and came up with nothing. “I’ve got to go to bed. You have a great day.” 

“I will.” Now David envisioned Jeanine rising from the chair. “Sleep well, David. I love you.” 

“I love  _ you _ . Bye-bye.” David hung up the phone, a cold emptiness settling over him. The call had started out all right, but somewhere along the way he’d stopped feeling as rejuvenated as he usually did when conversing with Jeanine. He hadn’t felt that rejuvenated in days, honestly, so he couldn’t blame it solely on tonight’s woes. For the life of him, he had no idea what was wrong, and the fact that he didn’t know bothered him more than whatever was actually the matter. All this stuff he’d been practicing and preaching about mindfulness, becoming one’s better self and communicating with one’s yin and yang... and here he was just as muddled as he’d been before Jeanine had placed him on the path of spiritual enlightenment. A small, secret part of him was beginning to doubt that his improved sense of self-worth and actualization had sprung solely from her teachings. 

David carefully unwrapped his towel hat, before settling down between the sheets. Meditation hadn’t worked to calm him, and neither had talking to Jeanine. And yet, as soon as David switched the lamp off, he was out like a light. 


	4. Chapter 4

A soft series of thumps roused David from his slumber. _Tap tap-tap tap tap..._

_What…?_ David cracked one eye open and peered at the digital clock’s red light. 3:45. Nowhere near time to get up. He rolled over and shut his eyes again- only for the same series of thumps to launch him back to full alertness. 

_Tap tap-tap tap tap..._

Strangely, it sounded like the thumps were coming from above David’s head. David sat up and turned to examine the wall behind the bed. A chilling thought occurred to him- _Is this room haunted?_

It took hearing the thumps a third time for David to get the message. Of course it sounded weird- the rhythm was unfinished. He and Nigel had always used to contact each other this way when they were boys, reaching out the window with an unbent coat hanger to tap on that of the adjacent flat. Which meant... 

_Christ, what’s Nigel doing up? It’s almost four in the morning_. 

The situation led to a brief mental debate. On the one hand, David had never ignored Nigel’s signal before, except on the day he hadn’t been home and Nigel had taken the silence to mean that David had lost his voice and spent a good couple hours chatting with thin air. But on the other hand... Nigel was ill and needed rest, and David certainly needed it as well. To that end, he lay down again and snuggled up under the covers, intent on blocking out any further noise. 

Shortly after David had laid down his head, the thumps reoccurred with a vengeance. _Tap tap-tap tap tap... tap tap-tap tap tap_... It reminded David of a person insistent on proving themselves correct in an argument. _Tap tap-tap tap tap..._

“God,” David growled. _Give it a rest, Nige_. He pulled the nearest pillow over his head, but the incessant thumps infiltrated his brain. _Tap tap-tap tap tap..._

_Nigel!!_ David shoved himself upwards, well and truly pissed off. He smacked his hand against the wall. _THUMP._ The silence only lasted a moment, before the phone at his nightstand rang. 

Though he knew full well who was calling, David made a show of pretending not to. “Hello, who might this be?” 

“David.” Nigel’s voice sounded raspy, as if he’d been coughing, though David didn’t think that was one of his established symptoms. “It’s Nigel.” 

“Yes, I know.” As David’s annoyance blossomed, the fact that Nigel wasn’t feeling well dropped from his mind. “What in god’s name are you doing up at this hour?” 

Nigel exhaled a long, contemplative breath. “I was just thinking... when we die... d’you think our souls become stardust or something, or are we, uh, born again as entirely new people, without our memories?” 

David sat stupefied for a long while, before blurting, “Why would you go and ask me a thing like that?” 

“Look, if you haven’t figured it out yet that’s fine,” Nigel said hotly. “I just thought you might know the answers or something, since you’re always communing with the great beyond and whatnot.” 

“Nigel...” How did he begin to respond to any of that? “Why are you calling me up in the middle of the night just to talk about death?” 

“Well, you know,” Nigel said matter-of-factly. “I might not make it through the night.” 

David sat up straighter. This was news to him. “Aren’t you feeling any better?” 

“Not much.” Nigel groaned. “My head is killing me.” 

Nigel’s words jogged loose something that Derek had said. “Derek left some pills on your nightstand.” 

“I tried that.” There was a note of self-pity in Nigel’s voice. “Can’t keep them down. Can’t keep anything down.” 

“Can you keep your head down, and go back to sleep?” David jived. 

“No I can’t! Not when I might not wake up.” Nigel’s voice took on a pleading quality, and David pictured his eyes widening for added effect. “I just thought you’d like to come in and see me one last time.” 

“Nigel—” David stopped himself before his exasperation reached a breaking point. He reminded himself that Nigel wasn’t well, that chewing him out would only make Nigel feel worse- and yet, all he wanted to do was verbally smack some sense into him. “I think you’re delirious. It’s just a stomach flu. You’ve had this before.” At least, if Nigel was the one he was thinking of who’d had to go home early from a childhood sleepover because he’d puked on the floor. A lot of kids had been sick at that party; David had managed to avoid the same fate. 

“That’s easy for you to say,” Nigel said. “You’ve never been sick a day in your life.” 

“And I fully intend to keep it that way,” David firmly stated.

Nigel continued obliviously, like a steamroller mowing down everything in its path. “You’re not the one who’s been puking his guts out and shitting his—” 

“Nigel, that is _precisely_ why I can’t come in there!” David shouted. “I’m hanging up, okay?” 

“But—”

“I’m hanging up!” David persisted. “I’m hanging up.” He slammed the phone back into the cradle and flopped back into bed. _Jesus Christ_. If he’d known Nigel was going to be ten times more insufferable than usual when he was sick, he wouldn’t have bothered feeling sympathetic. He rolled over, once again burying his face beneath his pillow. 

The phone rang. David sat up and reached for it with such force that he knocked it off the nightstand. He swore and fumbled around for the light switch, while the phone continued to ring, still in its cradle. Finally David switched the lamp on, squinting as the light blazed forth. He snatched up the phone from where it lay on the floor and jammed it to his ear. 

“Fuck, Nige, give it a rest!” 

“This isn’t funny, you know.” The petulance in Nigel’s voice would have been amusing if it hadn’t been so sincere. “I could be staring death in the face, and you’re _laughing.”_

“I can assure you, _no one_ is laughing.” David’s voice nearly broke from exhaustion. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. 4:05. Why couldn’t Nigel just let him _sleep?_

Nigel continued as if he hadn’t heard David. “If this is your last chance to see me, you’ll regret it. You’ll wake up in the morning- _oh boy, I just can’t wait to talk to Nigel!_ But it’ll be too late for you. By the time you get into my room I’ll be dead. Long dead. So dead that the flies are buzzing about. And you’ll spend every second of the rest of your life wondering why you couldn’t be bothered to visit your mate when he was ailing.” Nigel’s feverish rambling ended on a wavering note, as if he were struggling to hold himself together. David took a deep, shaky breath, steadying himself. Talking sense into Nigel wasn’t working. To calm him down, he would have to make an appearance. 

“Nigel... If I come in there, will you be able to sleep?” 

“Oh.” Just like that, the fragility in Nigel’s voice turned to childlike wonder. “You mean, you really will?”

“Yes.” David held back a sigh. “If that’s what you want, yes. I really will.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to have to go to all that trouble...”

David wanted to rip his hair out, but he forced himself to keep his voice even. “Just a moment. Stay where you are.” Slowly he heaved himself from the bed and got to his feet, grumbling under his breath. _Fucking Nigel_... He hoped he only needed to show his face to keep Nigel satisfied. Staying too long increased his chances of contracting whatever Nigel had. 

The dim fluorescent hallway lights greeted David as he stepped outside. He hoped to god that no one whose opinion he respected was wandering the halls at 4 AM. His feet were bare, pajamas rumpled, and— _yikes_. David ran his hand through his hair in dismay. He’d forgotten to blow-dry his hair before he went to bed and now it had erupted into curls. _Nigel had better appreciate all this effort_... or lack thereof. 

Though David didn’t have a key, he soon found he didn’t need one, because the door was unlocked. The fact baffled David more than he would have liked to admit. Had Nigel left the door unlocked because he’d anticipated David’s arrival? Why hadn’t he just gotten out of bed to let him in, if that were the case? How long had he been planning on calling him over? Finally David shook off the weirdness and entered the room. All the lights were off, leaving him free to stumble about until finally he walked straight into Nigel’s bed. 

“Shit!” 

“David!” The room came alive with light. Blinking rapidly, David glanced over to see Nigel half-buried under a pile of blankets, one hand hovering over the lamp’s switch. He still looked pale, and his greasy hair was stuck to his neck with sweat, but his eyes were bright as he took in the sight of David. 

“Hello, Nigel.” David hoped his voice conveyed the right amount of off-handedness. “Fancy meeting you here.” He weaved his way across the floor, past mountains of clothing and instrument cases. They’d been here two months, and yet apparently Nigel had never bothered to properly unpack.

“Come to pay your last respects?” Now that David was looking at Nigel, he realized that he was much more lucid than he’d sounded on the phone. There was little energy in his voice, and he hadn’t bothered to prop himself up to better see David, but his eyes were focused as they tracked David’s movement. More focused than they had been at the studio. David melted into the shadows at the far end of the room, rubbing his arms to beat the chill of the A/C. After switching it off, he went to work at opening a window, trying to ignore Nigel’s shrewd stare. 

“Look at that.” Nigel sounded forlorn. “Can’t even stand to share the same air as me.” 

“Of course I don’t want to share your air,” David griped. He shoved the window up with more force than he’d meant to use. “You’re sick. I’m not trying to catch what you’ve got.” 

Nigel sighed noisily. David turned around just in time to catch him pulling his sheets up to his chin. “It’s cause I’m an invalid. You’ve no respect for me in this weakened state.”

_For crying out loud_. David shook his head, determined not to play this little game anymore. He deposited himself into an easy chair and folded his arms across his chest. “I know what you’re doing, you know.” 

The innocence in Nigel’s voice was questionable. “What am I doing?” 

“You’re trying to make everyone feel sorry for you.” David adopted a cloying tone. _“Oh, poor Nigel, sick in bed_. You just love the attention, don’t you?” 

To his surprise, Nigel didn’t try to defend himself. He rolled onto his side and hugged his knees to his chest. “Well it _worked_.” 

David leaned forward, his ragged hair falling into his eyes. The irritation was starting to wear off, based on the fact that despite everything, David really was glad to see that Nigel was all right. He _had_ to be, considering his theatrics. Though David ached to go back to bed, he didn’t think he would have gotten up this early for anyone but Nigel. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said. “I only came in to shut you up.” 

“That’s... that’s rather hurtful, innit.” It was strange to hear the silent pauses in Nigel’s speech, no longer punctuated by his habitual gum-chomping. “You don’t mean that.” 

David wasn’t sure if he meant it or not, so he changed the subject. “How are you feeling?” 

Nigel made a face. “It’s like... it’s a bit like meeting a giant, and he crushes you with his big toe, and you’re all flat like a pancake. Then he peels you his toe like you’re in a cartoon, but you don’t come back to life.” The more Nigel spoke, the more pitiful he grew, as if breathing each word were a hassle. This time, however, David didn’t think he was exaggerating. He eyed the bottle of ibuprofen on the nightstand. It didn’t look like Nigel had touched it, but then again, how was he to know? If Nigel was to be believed, it wasn’t like taking a pill would improve his condition. 

“You should go to sleep,” David said. The longer he sat there, the more uncomfortable he felt. He shifted in his seat, angling himself closer to the window. “You’ll feel better in the morning.” 

Nigel’s voice was quiet. “But what if I’m not here in the morning?” 

_Not this again_... “ _God,_ Nigel.” David pinched the bridge of his nose. “Whatever got you going on this? I guarantee if you were _really_ dying, you would feel a _lot_ worse.” 

“Oh. So you don’t think it’s enough that I feel like complete shit?” 

David let his hand drop. Even though he knew he shouldn’t, he got up from his seat and walked over to Nigel’s bedside. Nigel’s large, vacuous eyes gaped up at him, waiting for his next move. 

“A stomach bug never killed anyone,” David explained patiently, for what felt like the millionth time. “In a few days all this unpleasantness will be over, and we’ll be back to work on our record.” 

He hadn’t really intended to mention the record, and hoped that Nigel wouldn’t call him out as self-centered. But Nigel just kept staring up at him, looking absurdly small beneath the blankets he’d piled around himself. 

“It’s just...” Nigel swirled his tongue around his mouth, searching for words. “When you’re ill, you know, it’s... it’s not very nice to... to be on your own.” 

The hard edges that David had built up dissolved in a flash. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. _So that’s all you wanted?_ God, sometimes it felt like he was the only one on this planet who actually said what he meant. Well, himself and Derek, too. 

“You’re not on your own,” he said. 

For the first time that evening, Nigel gave a self-conscious smile. “I can see that.” 

David suddenly became aware of just how close he was standing next to Nigel. He moved to the foot of the bed and gingerly sat down, minding Nigel’s feet. This was stupid. He knew he shouldn’t have entered the room. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave now. 

“You know,” Nigel piped up, “you never answered my question.” 

David glanced over. “Which question?” 

Nigel’s eyes became half-lidded, a sign of serious contemplation. “Where do we go when we die.” He rested his hands on his stomach and angled his head to get a better glimpse of David, looking for all the world like a boy waiting for his mother to tell him a bedtime story. 

“Well, no one knows for sure,” David said. “It’s not as if you can die for fun, and then report back on your discoveries.” 

“Can’t you?” Nigel said. 

“No, of course not.” 

Nigel adopted a familiar look of confusion. “Then what about ghosts?” 

“Ghosts are something different,” David explained, though he’d never given it much thought before. His spiritual inclinations rarely led him down the path of the supernatural. “I mean, you never hear of a ghost coming to your bedside and having a polite conversation. You just hear about them making bumps in the night and wailing up in the attic.” He pondered the matter for a bit. “Maybe ghosts are just part of yourself that’s stuck in a loop. Like… like time travel or something. That’s why they don’t recognize anyone- they can’t see past the moment they’re trapped in.” 

“I saw a ghost once,” Nigel said, blatantly ignoring David’s profundity. 

“Really? When was that?” 

“It was during our last tour.” Nigel made a waving gesture with his hand. “Here, I mean. I was sleeping on the couch in Memphis when I heard a noise. I sat up and there’s this woman there, completely pale, white hair down to here.” He indicated a spot just past his shoulder. “Fully nude, too. Her hair covering her nips. She wasn’t a natural blonde.” 

“Nigel...” David broke in. “Did it ever occur to you that she was one of Derek’s special friends?” 

Nigel pointed a finger towards David. “That _did_ occur to me. But that was after we sent the girls home- you remember! That was the day we went to visit the King. When I went to bed, it was you and me and Derek and Ian, and Mick, God rest his soul, and Viv, God rest _his_ soul. No women anywhere, unless they were hiding in the closets.” 

“Maybe they _were_ ,” David said. “Or one snuck in and then snuck out again.” 

Nigel propped himself up on his arms. “If she was sneaking out, why did she stand at the door for a full minute, just staring at me?” He then grimaced and sank back down. 

“Are you all right?” 

“Yeah, just a bit dizzy.” Nigel pressed his fingers to his temples. 

“She was probably embarrassed about being caught,” David said, returning to more important matters. “Did she say anything to you?” 

“No,” said Nigel. “She waited a full minute, then she opened the door and left. She left behind a sort of... chill in the air. And a musty scent.” 

“Well, that’s how you know it wasn’t a ghost,” David said. “If she was a ghost, why’d she need to open the door? Couldn’t she have just, I don’t know, phased through the wall or something?” 

“I don’t know, I’m not an expert on these things,” Nigel retorted, raising his voice. “But I know what I saw.” 

“What you _thought_ you saw.” David shook his head. “I swear, Nige, if ignorance is bliss, you must be happy all the time.” 

“Not really,” Nigel insisted, pulling the blankets tighter around himself. “I’m not happy _all_ the time.” 

David reached up to scratch behind his ear. “You’ve clearly proven _that_ tonight.” 

“It doesn’t make me happy when you say that,” Nigel murmured. 

David frowned. “When I say what?” 

“What you said about... about my being ignorant.” Now Nigel was frowning too. “”I’m not... it’s not like... it’s not like I don’t _know_ anything, it’s just, um... It’s not easy to understand things sometimes, and you don’t... I mean, it’s...” 

“Go on,” David urged, simultaneously fascinated and horrified. So rarely did he and Nigel have this kind of heart-to-heart. Not since... well... not since _ever_ , really. _The fever must be worse than I thought_. Though he wasn’t sure if that was the case, because there was still absolute clarity in Nigel’s voice. 

“I mean.” Nigel spread his palm across his eyes. “You don’t make it easy for me when you, uh, when you just call me stupid and all that. You never explain anything. You just go ‘haven’t you got any brains?’ or ‘you’d see it if you weren’t so stubborn.’ And it... doesn’t really… make me feel good, you know?” 

As David digested that, Nigel’s hand slid from his face to his side, and he cringed, an embarrassed smile wreathing across his face. “I shouldn’t’ve said that, I dunno.” 

“It’s—” David broke off, his mind thoroughly blown. Quickly he flashed back to all the different times he had insulted Nigel’s intelligence. It took a while to get through, because there were quite a lot. Throughout it all, Nigel had never fought back, barring the one explosion at Rainbow Trout Studios where he’d snapped and come close to throwing punches, or at least a chair. But David hadn’t thought that his comment was what started that whole mess. In fact, he mostly remembered sticking up for Nigel, making excuses even when he couldn’t follow Nigel’s logic at all, until one foible too many had pushed him to the brink. 

It deeply bothered him to now learn that he’d been upsetting Nigel all these years. He struggled fruitlessly for something to say, anything that would convey the sentiment of those two pesky words without actually having to say them. At last, however, David gave up. 

“I’m sorry.” David coughed awkwardly, eager to move on. “Have I done anything else to offend you lately?” 

Nigel appeared to consider it for a bit. Then he said, “A few nights ago when we were at that pub and I had the steak, and you stole my chips. I’d hardly taken a bite and you didn’t say anything, you just reached over and took some!” 

David relaxed. Now this was a version of Nigel that he could handle. “What should I have said?” 

“You could’ve said—” Nigel’s voice dropped in pitch and became more nasally. “‘Hey, Nige, d’you mind if I take a few chips?’” 

“All right,” David sighed. “I’m sorry about that, too.” He patted Nigel’s knee. “When you’re feeling better- which you will be, because you’re not dying- we can go back to the pub and I’ll buy you a whole load of chips, how does that sound?” 

Nigel swiped his hand across his mouth, nodding. “Sounds all right to me.” 

“All right.” David watched as the now-content Nigel closed his eyes, seemingly at peace. In mere seconds, his breathing evened out and slowed down. A flicker of amusement stirred in David. 

“Are you finally going to sleep on me?” 

“Mmm.” Nigel rolled over, pillowing his head on his hands. On the verge of dreamland, he was almost endearing. And he wasn’t really so bad when he was awake, either, David reflected. As long as he wasn’t waking David up at odd hours just to talk to him because he was lonely. 

The longer David watched Nigel, the lower his eyelids drooped. God, he was exhausted. It had to be about 5 AM by this point. Instead of getting up, however, he pulled both feet up onto the bed. Maybe just another minute, to make sure Nigel really was asleep. Or another couple minutes. He really didn’t mind. If his presence put Nigel at ease, he had no choice but to stay all night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next on Wednesday: another recording session is disrupted, and David learns the meaning of "too close for comfort."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Jackson" in this chapter was originally supposed to be Spinal Tap's real-life keyboardist, C.J. Vanston, but I learned while writing this fic that he hadn't moved to LA yet in 1984. Nevertheless, feel free to picture him in the scenes where Jackson is present.

The first thing David registered as he slowly emerged from the murk of sleep was a soft rhythm beneath his hand, matching the speed of his pulse. _Two hearts beating as one_ . A warm, solid weight pressed against his chest, his arms encircled around bare flesh. In his hazy dream state, David softened to the core. _Jeanine_... He snuggled up to her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder blade. 

Then he opened his eyes. Immediately he caught a glimpse of brown, stringy hair and freckles dotting the pale skin of someone’s back. David froze. _Not Jeanine_. And this wasn’t his home, either. It wasn’t even his hotel room. He was with... 

_NIGEL_ . The moment David realized where he was, he acted without thinking. He shoved himself away from Nigel’s slumbering form so fast that he tumbled out of the bed. The floor rushed up to meet him with an unforgiving _slap_. David cried out, then slapped his hand over his mouth. The last thing he wanted was for Nigel to wake up and ask what he was doing in his room... in his _bed_ ... and why the hell hadn’t he left the night before? But _fuck_ , the fall hurt. David lay there for a minute, catching his breath, his mind whirling. The instant he felt safe to stand, he bolted upright and fled out the door. 

Though David’s room was right next to Nigel’s, he had trouble getting in, because he couldn’t find his key. Blind panic surged through him as he searched himself. _Tell me I didn’t leave it in Nigel’s room_. But then his fingers slipped around a familiar metallic object in his pajama pocket. _Yes_ . Breathing more easily now, David removed the key and unlocked the door with a _click._ He stumbled inside, his adrenaline slowly draining away. 

What... the _fuck_... had that all been about?? David switched on the lights and paced the floor of his room, racking his brain. The glowing numbers of the digital clock screamed at him- 10:05. He’d spent five hours asleep in Nigel’s room, for no reason that he could discern. It made no sense to have stayed for so long. Or to have gone over in the first place. Sure, Nigel had felt better with David around, but once Nigel had fallen asleep, that should have been David’s cue to get up and _go_. Why did it matter how tired he had been? His room had been _right there_. And yet for some mystifying reason, he’d spent the night in Nigel’s bed, as if lying beside and, oh god, _spooning_ with his sick bandmate was preferable to— 

Both David’s body and mind halted in their tracks. _Jesus Christ._ Nigel was _sick_. Nigel was sick, and he’d just spent at least six hours in close proximity with him, five of which he’d spent actually touching him.

Panic gripped David once again. He made a dash for the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. One look elicited a groan. His fucking _hair_ . He was surprised Nigel hadn’t commented on it; apparently he was capable of being courteous from time to time. David’s instinct was to reach for a hair straightener, but there were more pressing matters at hand. Mentally he assessed himself- _any random body aches?_ Besides the throbbing in his side from when he’d fallen out of bed, not really. He pressed his fingertips to his forehead. He didn’t feel any warmer than usual, nor did he feel a chill in the air. He stuck out his tongue and examined it. Everything seemed to be in working order. Then again, David wasn’t really sure what he was looking for. He supposed the real question was whether he felt sick enough to throw up, to which the answer was no. Not only that, but he was _hungry._ Shakily David exited the bathroom, relief pouring into him. He sunk onto the bed and buried his face in his hands. 

Thank god. He wasn’t sick. By some kind of miracle, he’d avoided catching Nigel’s illness. That left only one issue to vex him- why the _fuck_ had he spent the night in Nigel’s room, and what had possessed him to _cuddle_ Nigel? The morning’s kiss (David nearly shuddered at the memory) could be excused, because he’d thought Nigel was Jeanine. But he’d known what he was doing when he’d lain down next to Nigel the night before. And to make things worse... he’d done it because he _wanted_ to. 

With all his heart, David hoped that Nigel had been out cold the entire night, and wouldn’t remember that David had slept over. The thought of having to explain himself left a dry sensation in his throat. Or was that the virus catching up to him? 

A knock at the door startled David. Derek’s disembodied voice boomed through the walls. “David, are you up?” 

_Shit_. “Just a moment!” For the third time that morning, David leapt into action. He snatched up the towel that he’d discarded the night before and hastily wrapped his hair in it, then went to the dresser, searching frantically for something to put on. The first drawer he opened revealed a lime-green dressing gown, bought to match Jeanine’s kimono- _Jeanine!_ Was she waiting on a call from David? He honestly couldn’t remember. If she was, he would have to keep her sitting there. David threw on the dressing gown, hoping that Derek would believe he had just stepped out of the shower. He steadied himself with a deep breath, before opening the door.

“Hullo, Derek.” 

Derek’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “What’s going on with your hair?” 

“Just came from a shower.” David’s eyes narrowed. “My hair requires a very complicated regimen of care, Derek, I’m surprised you don’t know this.” 

Derek looked astonished. “I never said it didn’t.” He shifted in place. “I’ve got some news that will make your day.” 

David leaned against the doorframe. “Let’s hear it.” 

“Jackson’s in LA and he’s got nothing on his plate.” Derek watched David’s face for a reaction. “I worked it out with Tammy- we can book an all-day session and get his parts recorded in one go.”

For the first time since yesterday’s misfortune, David felt himself grinning. “ _Yes_.” He clapped Derek on the shoulder. “You’re a saint. When’s Jackson coming in?” 

“Around noon,” Derek replied. 

The grin dropped from David’s face. “You mean... noon tomorrow, right?” 

“Noon today,” Derek said. “The sooner the better.” 

“ _Fuck!_ ” David moved away, rushing to his dresser. Recording would begin in... David checked the clock. An hour and a half, and here he was, hardly ready to go out or be seen. There was so much to _prepare_... He needed breakfast, for God’s sake, and a decent change of clothes, and of course he needed to get his hair under control, and then they’d need to set up the studio... The list kept expanding to a truly daunting level. 

“There’s no big rush,” Derek said, seemingly taken aback by David’s explosion of energy. “I already let Tammy know when we’ll be in. She’s setting up as we speak.” 

“God bless,” David sighed. At least that was one less thing to worry about. He tried to ask as casually as possible as he opened the dresser, “Heard anything from Nigel?” 

Derek shook his head. “I stopped by his room a few minutes ago and left his breakfast out in the hall. He didn’t answer when I knocked on the door.” 

“Oh, well,” David muttered, trying not to appear too relieved. His hands landed on a pair of black pants with white pinstripes, and he yanked them out. “He’s probably resting. As well he should. Nothing to worry about.” 

“I’m not worried,” Derek said blankly. “Are you—” 

“Am I what?” David opened another drawer and grabbed the first shirt in sight, a ruffled white affair. “Am I worried?” 

“No, are you _all right_.” Derek seemed vaguely uncomfortable. “You seem a bit—”

“I’m fine!” David insisted. He hurried over to the bed and laid his clothes down. Indeed, he felt better than fine. Amazing, really, considering what had happened the night before, about which Derek was apparently in the dark— 

“Nigel didn’t call you at all last night, did he?” he blurted. 

“No...” For a second David thought Derek would repeat his previous inquiry as to David's health, but he didn’t. “Why d’you ask?”

“Oh, you know Nigel.” David chuckled half-heartedly as he held up the pair of pants he’d selected to his waist. “Always gets these odd notions when he’s not feeling well...” 

“Well, you know him better than I do,” Derek said. “Did he call you, then?” 

“No, it’s just, er, something he... used to do when we were sharing a...” David coughed, setting down his clothes to glare pointedly at Derek. “Are you expecting a show? A little privacy would be nice.” 

“Sorry, David.” Derek scooted from the doorframe back into the hall. It was only when David heard the door click behind him that he tore the towel off his head and made straight for the bathroom. First things first, he’d get his hair straightened out. Then maybe the rest of the day’s tasks would become more bearable. 

By the time David met Derek in the hall, his blond locks had been straightened and combed and fully attended to. His shirt was neatly tucked into his pants, and he’d chosen a new pair of heeled boots to project an extra air of confidence. Though part of his brain was constantly monitoring his condition, he still suffered no physical ailments. All in all, this David St. Hubbins was nothing like the one who’d lost his head the night before. In his revitalized state, he felt ready to take on the world. 

“Come along,” Derek said, already heading for the elevator at the end of the corridor. David obligingly followed him. He spotted a few takeout containers sitting outside Nigel’s door, wrapped in a plastic bag, but tried not to dwell on them. The best course of action for today was to put any thought of Nigel Tufnel out of his mind completely. Fortunately, David had had a lot of practice. 

* 

Jackson was already at the studio when Derek and David arrived. Just the sight of him immensely cheered David. Their drummer, Jimmy, had been a perfectly serviceable find- he got the job done and that was the most Spinal Tap could ask for. But Jackson Phife, on the other hand, was a _catch._ Without him, Spinal Tap might not have regrouped after losing their previous keyboardist, Viv Savage, to an unforeseen explosion at Mick Shrimpton’s grave. As far as anyone in the band was concerned, Viv himself was expendable, but the role of keyboardist could not easily be filled. Until Jackson had come along, that was. Fresh from LA’s pool of session musicians, he played with an adeptness that belied his youth. When he’d first been recommended to Spinal Tap, it had taken only a thirty-second demonstration to convince the band to hire him on the spot. 

“Jackson!” Derek whooped as he and David stepped into the control room. 

“Guys.” Jackson affixed the two with an amiable smile. “What’ve we got cooking?” 

“Why don’t you hear it for yourself?” Derek went over to the tape machine, while David glanced around the room. “Where’s Tammy?” 

As if on cue, the door to the recording area opened, revealing Tammy with several wrapped XLR cables in hand. She nodded to the assorted musicians. “Gentlemen. It’s all set up for you, Jackson. Ready whenever you are.” 

“Hey, thanks.” Jackson lifted open the lid to his keyboard case, revealing a full 88-key electric Yamaha within. “So Nigel’s not feeling well?” 

“No,” Derek said. “But I’m sure whatever you play for us today will have him feeling better in no time.” 

Tammy queued up the first tune, while Jackson disappeared into the recording area to set up and plug in his keyboard. David watched over Tammy’s shoulder with his arms crossed. He couldn’t seem to expel the tension inside of him until Derek patted a spot on the couch beside him. “David! Why don’t you hang your hat up and stay a while?” 

At that moment, a soothing piano arpeggio came trickling through Tammy’s speakers. David relaxed, settling down onto the couch. There was no need to worry. Jackson would nail each part and everything would turn out all right. 

The recording process lasted both longer than David had hoped, and just as long as he’d anticipated. Derek, of course, couldn’t resist from jumping in at the control panel, assisting Tammy and guiding Jackson along the path of each song. David’s inclination to advise, however, faded an hour into the session, leaving him content to just sit back on the couch and listen. Any problems that Derek or Tammy might have were mere quibbles considering how damn good the music sounded. And to be frank, David just didn’t have it in him to put up a fuss. So rarely did he get the chance to sit back and let someone else handle things for a change. _Why doesn’t this happen more often?_

As the day wore on, though, a mild ache began to pulse behind David’s eyes. He reached up to massage them, unsure of the cause. The only light in the control room came from the floor lamp, which David understood had something to do with Tammy’s need for _atmosphere_. He supposed that staring at the blinking lights on the tape machine was making his head hurt. That, or he hadn’t had enough to eat that morning. But he didn’t really feel hungry, not even when Derek arranged for an order of fast food to be dropped off at the studio. Nor did the ache lessen as he devoured his cheeseburger. 

Seven hours were spent on five songs total. It wasn’t nearly the mad dash that David had imagined, but it was a start. Even keyboard gods needed to stretch their fingers and fill their stomachs once in a while. However, by the time evening rolled around, David wasn’t in the mood to celebrate their progress. His sole focus was on his throbbing head, and his increasing lethargy. Terror flared to life within him. Was this how it started? No... he didn’t have an upset stomach. The burger he’d enjoyed was still sitting comfortably inside him, where it belonged. He was just tired from the long session, that was all. Nothing else could be the matter. 

When Jackson came back into the control room, Derek leapt up to clap him on the back. “Cheers to the man, Mr. Phife!” 

“Well, he’s certainly punctual,” Tammy said, checking her watch. “Seven o’clock on the dot.” She spun around in her chair, surveying Derek, Jackson, and David. “If you’re happy with everything, I can start the rough mixes tomorrow.” 

“Not so fast,” Derek said. “We’ve still got plenty of guitar to do. Plus there are a few more tracks that haven’t got keys on them.” He glanced at David, seeking assent. David cleared his throat and managed to get out, “He’s right. We’ll book another session for tomorrow.” 

“I’m free tomorrow,” Jackson said. 

“Good man.” Derek held his hand out for a high five. David tried to smile, but the effort was strained, given his pounding headache. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourselves, boys,” Tammy cautioned. “I’ve already got a few other sessions in the books. We can try to fit you in at 6 PM if you’re free.” 

“Tam _my_ ,” Derek admonished. “It’s not as if we’ve got anything better to do.” He looked to Jackson, who nodded while scratching the back of his neck. “I’m open.” 

“All right, 6 PM tomorrow it is.” Tammy picked up an agenda that she kept on her desk and flipped through it, before scribbling in a note for the following day. “Pleasure working with you, as always. Now go out and enjoy yourselves.” 

“We’re way ahead of you.” Derek threw his arm around Jackson and gave him an approving once-over. “I think this man deserves a pint or two, what d’you say?” 

“Sounds great,” David said faintly, although the thought of drinking anything, even a cup of juice, sounded dreadfully unpleasant. 

“Sure,” Tammy muttered as she turned her chair back around, “don’t bother asking the engineer. No one ever asks the engineer.” 

“Tammy, would you like to join us?” Jackson asked. 

“Oh, no.” Tammy waved her hand. “I got stuff to do. But thanks.”

“All right. It’s settled.” Derek slid his hand from Jackson’s shoulder and went to the door, tapping the couch along the way. “David. Come on.” Jackson followed him out. 

Getting out of the studio did sound like a good idea. David stood up- and immediately pitched forward as dizziness swamped him. He took a deep breath and fiercely shook his head. He was not getting sick. For the love of god, _he was not getting sick_. He’d just been sitting down for too long, and he’d gotten a head rush. Perfectly normal. It happened to him at least once a week. David continued to tell himself he was fine, over and over, as he walked out of the room, behind Derek and Jackson. But with each step, a sickening sensation built up inside him, causing sweat to spread across his skin. 

David was surprised at the chill in the air when he, Derek, and Jackson made their way outside. Despite his light jacket, he shivered. He tried to concentrate as Derek and Jackson debated on which bar to visit, but his head pulsed and his stomach churned. 

“I thought you said there’s a pub right down the street,” Jackson was saying. 

Derek shook his head. “We don’t like that one. Too many naysayers. Disbelievers in the Tap.” 

“I think there’s a karaoke bar a couple blocks from here,” Jackson suggested. “We could go there.” 

“Lead the way.” Derek sauntered after Jackson, while David did his best to keep up. However, the valiant effort was wasted, as each step only served to accentuate his growing list of ailments. He felt as if he were standing on a giant rubber ball, trying his damnedest to balance without falling off. 

As promised, Jackson led the group for a few blocks, but the bar he had mentioned was nowhere to be found. By that point, sweat was trickling into David’s hair. He wiped it mechanically off his forehead. _Real attractive, Hubbins. Real attractive_. Though the trek hadn’t been overly arduous, his muscles were cramping, as if someone was poking him multiple times in the stomach. All he wanted to do was sit down, but there wasn’t a bench in sight. 

“Perhaps we should have taken a left...” Derek mused. 

“Nah,” Jackson dismissed him. “It’s a straight shot. I’m sure of it.” 

Derek absently smoothed down his mustache. “You know, I think we passed another bar a block ago. We could go there.” He turned in the direction from whence they’d come, overwhelming David. _You made me walk for a mile just to turn around and head back?_ But he couldn’t summon the will to protest. 

They’d hardly made it two steps before Jackson smacked his forehead. “Wait, a minute, _now_ I remember! You go for one more block, then you take a right!”

“Are you _sure?”_ Derek questioned. “The other bar’s right down the street. We could just go there.”

“Well, what do you think, David?” Jackson turned to him, and Derek did the same. “Which one do you want to go to?” 

Ordinarily David would have had a lot to say on the subject, but his stomach was turning somersaults and his mouth had filled with saliva that he couldn’t gulp down. He wet his lips and smoothed his hair back with his fingers, trying vainly to collect himself. “Why don’t we just... go back to the—” 

That was all he got out before bending over the sidewalk and heaving. One hand clutched his cramped stomach, while the other settled against his knee to steady himself. All the same, David still nearly toppled over, the vomit burning his mouth and nose. Christ, it was probably getting in his _hair_ too, and all over his nice ruffled shirt and his brand new boots... 

“ _Fuck!_ ” David roared when he was through, straightening up on shaky legs. “ _Nigel!!_ ” 

“No, he’s okay, ma’am,” Derek insisted to a startled passerby who hovered around them, trying to offer help. “Thank you very much for checking in.” 

“Shit,” Jackson blurted. 

“I’m going to kill Nigel!!” Balling his hands into fists, David tried to march off, but he stumbled, his head spinning madly. 

Derek took David’s arm. “You can’t kill him if you’re standing out here.” The pity in his voice only incensed David further, but he was powerless as Derek turned him in what he hoped was the direction of the hotel. “Come on.”


	6. Chapter 6

Instead of heading to his own hotel room, David insisted that Derek drop him off at Nigel’s. While he was riding in the elevator, he’d conjured a thousand imaginative accusations to hurl at Nigel, relishing the choice words they would soon have. But by the time Nigel answered the door, David was in no condition to pick a fight. His plans were abandoned in favor of rushing to the bathroom. All he could do was bend over the toilet and hope he was pointing the right end at it. 

Deep in the throes of his affliction, a tiny part of David’s brain registered that this was the first time he’d seen Nigel on his feet since Derek had walked him up to his room the night before. The realization sparked irritation rather than relief. Sure, it was good that Nigel was feeling better, but did it even matter now that David was sick? Even though his parts for the album had been fully recorded, there was still no way he’d make it home in time for Christmas. _Fucking Nigel. He’ll pay for this. I don’t know how, but he will_. _Even if it means contracting a virus twice_. 

Eventually, after expelling more than he’d ever thought his body was capable of holding, David ended up on the floor, his face pressed against the cool side of the porcelain bathtub. That felt so good that he put his hands against it as well, before finally hauling himself in to lie there, trembling. The bathtub wasn’t exactly the most comfortable surface, but David feared that moving might upset his stomach again, and if his stomach was upset there was no better place to be than right beside the toilet. 

So this was what it felt like to be sick. Well, it _fucking sucked_. David’s only hope was to close his eyes and sleep it off. But the bathtub was hard and cold, and sleep refused to come. 

Several long moments passed- it could have been hours, it could have been days. No noises came from the main room. If Nigel was still there, which David assumed he was, he was certainly taking this invasion of his privacy in stride. David couldn’t really find anything else to think about that, except for how badly he wanted the pills that he knew were at Nigel’s bedside. He curled in on himself, fingers pressing against his cramping stomach. Soon a knock came at the door. 

“David.” Nigel’s voice emanated from beyond the wood. “D’you mind if I come in there? I’ve really got to piss.” 

David tried to say something, but it only came out as a groan. For Christ’s sake, what did he think he was doing in Nigel’s bathroom?? He’d wanted to bug Nigel exactly the way that Nigel had bugged him the night before, to teach him a lesson about calling someone up in the middle of the night and to get back at him for spreading his illness to David. But now Nigel’s room was the last place David wanted to be. He wished he were curled up in his own bathtub, or better yet, his own bed, all tucked in and cozy… 

“I mean, it’s not urgent,” Nigel continued from outside the door. “I just think that, in a little while, it will be. I don’t want to come in there if you’re busy.” 

Sudden remorse swamped David. He’d been so annoyed with Nigel calling him up last night and inviting him over for no sensible reason. But now he understood why. If Nigel had felt _this_ bad, no wonder he’d thought he was going to die. No wonder he’d craved for a voice to tell him everything was okay. It had still been foolhardy to invite David in, but it was David’s own damn fault for accepting, and that was why he was now stuck in Nigel’s bathroom feeling like complete shit. 

A choking feeling rose in David’s throat, much like the feeling he got when someone called Spinal Tap “medium talent,” or how he’d felt the last time he’d fallen off the wagon. “ _I’m sorry_ ,” he gasped over the sound of his rapidly-increasing heartbeat. Poor Nigel couldn’t have helped it... and David was certainly not making his life any easier by locking himself in his bathroom... 

Apparently mistaking David’s words for a go-ahead, Nigel came into the bathroom. David turned his face away from Nigel, not wanting him to see him like this. The one glimpse he caught of Nigel revealed that he had stripped down to nothing but his boxer shorts. His hair was a mess of flyaways, but some of his regular color had returned to his cheeks, and his eyes were alert. 

David expected Nigel to comment on his uncomfortable position in the bathtub, or at least the smell of the room. _God, I must stink to high heaven_. But he said nothing as he flipped both the lid and the toilet seat up. As he used the toilet, David hunched in on himself even more, trying to make himself small enough to disappear. But he had no such luck. He listened idly as Nigel flushed the toilet and turned on the tap. 

The water seemed to run for a long time, longer than usual. David didn’t want to look, but finally his curiosity got the better of him. He rolled over, forcing back a wave of nausea. Nigel was holding a washcloth under the tap. His other hand propped himself up against the mirror, his head hanging. He looked only slightly steadier than David, but he didn’t shut the water off. 

David swallowed to wet his dry throat, before croaking out, “Wha- what are you doing?” 

Instead of giving a straightforward answer, Nigel turned off the water and wrung the washcloth out. He then knelt beside the bathtub, offering it to David. 

“My head was pounding all day yesterday,” he said. “I just thought... yours might be too.” 

David stared blankly at Nigel’s offering. A shiver passed through him. _Nigel_... This was definitely _not_ how he’d wanted his day to end. The thought of Nigel pampering him like a baby made him cringe. But at the same time, he felt so weak and out of sorts that he wasn’t going to shrug off an act of kindness, embarrassing though it was. 

“Thanks.” David took the washcloth and folded it up against his forehead. A soothing trickle of cool water ran down his temple and soaked into his hair. 

Nigel reached up and took down a towel from the towel rack. Skillfully he folded it into a square, before offering it to David. “The tub’s not very comfortable, is it? I tried to take a bath without water a couple nights ago and I had an awful time.” 

David simply stared, unsure of what Nigel was playing at. _Assuming he’s playing at all._ It just didn’t make sense why he was being... well... why he was being so _nice_ to him. After David had barged into his room uninvited, forcing him to play nurse, his symptoms a cruel reminder of what Nigel had just suffered through... after he’d hogged his bathroom for a solid hour, purging until he had nothing left inside him... after he’d snapped at him over the phone the night before and blown up at him several times in the studio and mocked his intelligence and ignored him in favor of his girlfriend... 

He really wasn’t a good friend, was he? The realization cut deeper than expected, and made Nigel’s actions all the more bewildering. 

“Nigel,” David said tensely. “Get out, please.”

“Why?”

David gulped. “Because I’m about to be sick again.”

Nigel got up and left, draping the folded towel over the side of the bathtub. Only when he shut the door did David push himself up and drag himself to the toilet bowl. He leaned over it, retching, but it took a few moments for anything to come up. The pain inside him had nothing to do with his illness now. 

When David finished throwing up, he felt as if someone had vacuumed out his stomach. He pulled down the towel that Nigel had folded and tried to rest his head on it, but the floor was no improvement over the bathtub. Not to mention, the longer he stayed in the bathroom, the colder he became. Wistfully he envisioned a cozy comforter spread over him, a perfectly fluffed pillow beneath his head. Never mind the hospitality Nigel had shown him- David needed to go back to his room. If he could just make himself stand up. 

David could have applauded himself when he got to his feet. _I deserve a medal just for trying._ It didn’t take long for the room’s spinning to subside, which _had_ to be a good sign. He cursorily checked to make sure his shirt was tucked in and his pants were well-creased, but there was no intent behind the gesture. Nigel had already seen him at his worst. He wasn’t fooling anyone. 

The main room was brighter than it had been when David entered the night before, since Nigel had left the lamp on. Nonetheless, he still stumbled a few times. Making it to the door seemed like a task that wasn’t worth the effort, not at that moment anyway. It was enough of an accomplishment to reach the bed. Nigel was in bed, but David didn’t look at him, nor did Nigel say a word until David had steadied himself against the mattress, breathing hard. He couldn’t decide which was worse- his throbbing head, or the rolling floor beneath him. 

“You can spend the night here, you know,” Nigel said. 

David gave a violent shake of the head, which worsened his symptoms but served to accentuate his point. “You’ve done enough. This bed’s not big enough for two.” 

Nigel snorted, sitting up. “You were singing a different tune this morning.”

David went cold. _This morning_... Christ, he’d almost forgotten. Hours of recording and then suffering had successfully blotted all thoughts of the morning’s unexpected cuddle session from his mind. But now it was clear that Nigel remembered it. And David was still as much at a loss for explanations as he had been when he’d woken up. 

He tried to deter Nigel with a stiff, “I’d very much like to sleep in my own bed tonight, Nigel.” But when he tried to move towards the door, a fresh wave of nausea rolled over him. _Fuck_. If he was sick again, there was no way he’d be leaving Nigel’s room that night. 

Nigel sounded peeved. “Even though you’ve got an excuse not to?”

David gripped the bedpost. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Nigel shrugged, a half-amused grin on his face. “Well I didn’t exactly tie you down and force you to stay last night, did I?” 

David fought back the urge to groan. “I’d really rather not get—” 

“You going on,” Nigel continued, “whining about how you don’t want to get sick.” The more he spoke, the more it sounded as if he were barely suppressing laughter. “Then the next thing I know, you and I are snug as two bugs in a rug!” He twisted two fingers together to demonstrate. “And here you are now, saying you won’t spend the night, even though you could’ve gone anywhere and you chose—” 

“ _Nigel!”_ David barked, startling him to silence. He pressed his hand against his mouth, trying to breathe evenly. _Get out of here… get out._.. But the strain was too much. He sank down onto the bed in surrender. 

“I didn’t mean to stay,” he whispered. “I was tired.” He was tired, and worried about Nigel, and fuck it, maybe he had been just as lonely as Nigel the night before. Not that he’d ever admit that. 

David fully expected Nigel to gloat over his admission, but Nigel only sat up straighter. He reached out and took David by the shoulders, gently guiding him down into a horizontal position. Once again, strangeness struck David- not only because Nigel was being uncharacteristically kind to him, but also because it reminded him of Jeanine, settling into bed beside him every night. Except he usually got a back massage out of Jeanine. 

Nigel didn’t speak as David crawled beneath the covers, not even to smirkingly point out his defeat. Glumly, David realized that he’d been wrong- the bed was _definitely_ big enough for two. But he felt so wrung-out, and the cool sheets were so soothing against his body, that he didn’t bother wallowing. 

Of course, Nigel broke the peace in two seconds by asking, “Shall we huddle together for warmth?” 

This time David _did_ groan. “No, we absolutely shan’t. Not now or ever.” 

“Not _anymore,_ you mean.”

“Would you give it a rest?” David glared. _Why is he so hung up on this?_ “I thought you were Jeanine!” 

At that, Nigel burst out laughing. For some reason, the sound didn’t grate on David’s nerves, but he still wished Nigel would shut up, if only to quell his raging headache. He raised his voice to be heard over Nigel’s hysterics. “I was _dreaming_ , Nigel. Would you let this go?” 

“Sorry.” Nigel wiped his eyes and reached for a pack of gum on his nightstand. He unwrapped one stick and popped it in his mouth, before offering a second to David. “Gum?” 

“No thanks.” 

Nigel waved the stick in David’s face. “It’ll clean your mouth up a bit.” 

“I said no thanks.” David rubbed at his eyelids. Oddly enough, his stomach felt a bit better now that he’d gotten into bed, although he didn’t relish the thought of putting anything into it, or even in his mouth. 

“You’re feeling better,” he observed, as Nigel gave the gum a few practice chews before settling into a familiar rhythm. 

“Only threw up twice today,” Nigel said. “That breakfast tasted better coming up than going down.” 

David’s stomach wobbled uncomfortably at the mention of food, and he placed his hand across his forehead. “I suppose it was the best Derek could do on a short notice.”

“Does that mean Derek wants to poison me?!” Nigel exclaimed, dismayed. 

David chuckled slightly. “Talk about kicking a man while he’s down.” His hand slid from his forehead and settled on his stomach. _Spoke too soon._ The muscle cramps had returned, and he prayed that meant he wouldn’t have to get out of bed. Not only because he was next to Nigel… although he figured Nigel wasn’t a bad choice if he had to share a bed with anyone. 

“I s’pose you’re the one who’s down now,” Nigel contemplated aloud. 

“Don’t say that.” David rolled onto his side to get a better look at Nigel, and instantly regretted the way it made his stomach slosh. “You’re not exactly out of the woods.” 

“No, but I’ve much improved,” Nigel mumbled. “It’s a good thing I’m immune now, otherwise you would’ve set me back a day.” 

David returned to lying on his back, but the queasy feeling inside him was growing. He gritted his teeth, concentrating only on the conversation. “What are you talking about?” 

"You know,” said Nigel. “If I’ve got it once, I can’t get it again. It’s like... like the common cold, or chicken pox, or… something. That’s why they don’t give you shots, because your body fights it off—” he snapped his fingers— “like that.” 

“I’m not sure that’s how it—” David began, only for a gut-wrenching pain to abruptly silence him. He threw off the bedcovers and got to his feet. “Excuse me—”

When David next returned to the main room, Nigel had gotten up and was kneeling by David’s side of the bed, a plastic bowl in his hands. He set it on the floor and glanced at David as if waiting for his approval. “In case you get sick in the night.” 

_So that’s it_ . Now David really _was_ staying over. He couldn’t complain, though, as his desire to lie down was far stronger than his desire to return to his room. He wrinkled his nose at the bedside bowl as he got back into bed. “Have you washed that thing?” 

“I haven’t... not washed it,” Nigel replied, also climbing beneath the covers.

 _Okay, fine. Good enough_. David turned away from Nigel and pulled the blankets up to his chin. The endless vomiting had left him feeling empty and lightheaded. Sleep was now calling him, to the point where he didn’t care who was lying beside him. 

David had just closed his eyes when the distant sound of a ringing phone intruded upon him. He opened his eyes and peered into the dim light. It sounded as if the ringing was coming from the next room over- his room. _Nigel?_ But no, Nigel was right by his side. _Derek?_ No, Derek knew that David and Nigel were in the same room. Which meant it was probably... 

“God,” David groaned. “Jeanine.” He still wasn’t sure if he’d missed a call from her in the morning, but he was definitely missing a call from her now. What was she going to say once she found out he was sick? Imagining her disappointment as he broke the news that he’d be staying in LA even longer than previously expected brought the same choking feeling from earlier back to his throat. This was _not_ a conversation he wanted to deal with, both currently and in general. 

“What’s that?” Nigel said. 

“Jeanine’s calling me.” With each muffled ring, David’s heart sunk lower and lower. Jeanine probably thought he was ignoring her, or maybe she’d assumed the worst... He wanted to let her know he was okay, but he didn’t think he had the energy to withstand another “discussion.” Not to mention, the conversation was bound to go up in flames if Nigel were listening in. 

“Does she know you’re in this room?” Nigel asked. 

“No, of course she doesn’t!” David exhaled heavily, not wanting to look at Nigel. “She’s calling _my_ room, because she thinks I’m in there, because I _should_ be in there, but— but I’m not!” 

As David fell silent, so did the phone. His distress multiplied rapidly. He should have never come here. Not tonight, and not the previous night either, no matter how much Nigel had pleaded. _He is SUCH a child. Can’t stand to be alone. Can’t fend for himself_. If David had felt any better, he would have walked out of the room that instant. 

Nigel sounded puzzled. “Couldn’t you, uh... couldn’t you patch her in to this one?” He gestured to the phone on his nightstand.

Though David hadn’t remarked on any of Nigel’s earlier unusual displays of tolerance, he now found himself caving. “What is it to you? I thought you didn’t like Jeanine.” 

“Of course I don’t like her,” Nigel said. “She’s a bloody loon who almost broke up our band! But you’re my mate, and _you_ like her, and I don’t want my mate to be unhappy, do I?” Again he gestured to the phone, with a sense that the matter was closed.

For several moments David simply stared at the phone, unable to wrap his head around Nigel’s proposal. At last he got out, “That’s awfully touching, Nige. Now stop talking before this moment gets any sweeter and I’ve got my head down the toilet bowl again.” 

Nigel flopped down onto the mattress, undeterred. “I’m just saying, if you want to call her, it won’t upset me.” 

David considered the offer. He knew he _should_ call Jeanine back... and yet, her constant checkups were draining enough without adding in the fact that he felt like dogshit that had been smeared all over the sidewalk. He simply lacked the mental stamina. Besides, Nigel’s change of heart was far more interesting for David to ponder. He hoped that it hadn’t just been an attempt to raise David’s spirits. _He could be turning a real corner._

“No, I think I’d rather sleep.”

“All right.” Nigel took his gum out of his mouth and stuck it on the nightstand. In a flash, the cause of their entire situation became clear to David. _And that, Nigel, is how you catch a stomach virus..._

Nigel turned off the lamp and lay down. If David had turned towards Nigel, he could have bridged the microscopic gap between them. All he had to do was reach out, and they’d be wrapped in each other’s arms like they’d been that morning. But instead, David turned aside. 

* 

A faint strain of conversation roused David from his much-needed slumber. At first it was just a low murmur in the background, something he could avoid. But when applause and laughter followed the murmurs, as well as a series of musical stings, David’s already-thin patience frayed to nothingness. He opened his eyes to find himself staring at a glowing television. 

“Nigel,” he said. 

“What?” 

David tried to speak very slowly and calmly. “Why have you got the telly on?” 

“I can’t get to sleep.” Aiming the remote control at the television, Nigel deftly changed channels. The sound, however, was no quieter. David rubbed his eyes. 

“So you turned on a bright, noisy box?” 

“Well, you were asleep,” Nigel said with a smirk. “It’s not like you and I could hold a conversation, really.” 

_Whatever_. David had no means of defense. He supposed that watching TV in silence was better than Nigel pestering him. Though the screen wasn’t doing any wonders for his head. He wished futilely that he could take the ibuprofen provided to Nigel, but he wasn’t sure it would stay in his stomach. 

As Nigel flipped through channels, the shows became progressively worse. David would have killed for cable, but then again, that would have only given them more crap to sift through. By the time Nigel had circled back around to where he’d started, David wanted to bury his face in his pillow. 

“Don’t you miss the old days, Nige? Back when television was decent?” 

“That’s not the only thing I miss about the old days,” Nigel said. 

“Do you remember all those serials we used to watch?” Memories surged in the back of David’s mind. “ _Danger Man_... that time travel one...” 

“ _Gumby_ ,” Nigel offered. 

“Well, you still watch _Gumby_.” 

Nigel nodded. “Everyone should.” 

“Television is rubbish now,” David said, delving deeper into the realm of reflection. “Especially American programs.” 

“Some of them are quite nice,” Nigel argued, though in his airy, detached way that never sounded like he was taking a side. “Like _Wha’ Happened.”_

David frowned. “What’s that?” 

“ _You_ know, the one with the- with the bloke who’s always mucking up everyone else’s business, and he’ll come in on the scene and drop of a flower pot on the floor, or he’ll lose track of someone’s car keys, and then the camera zooms in and he goes—” Nigel’s voice deepened cartoonishly. _“Hey, wha’ happened?”_

“...Are you sure this wasn’t a dream you had?” 

“No, it’s not a dream,” Nigel insisted. “I’ve got all four episodes on tape.” 

“Where did you get a thing like that?” David asked. 

“One of the girls gave it to me, the last time we were in America.” David noticed that Nigel was chewing his gum again. He wondered if he should remind Nigel of where he’d gotten it from, but he figured there was no point in trying to talk some sense into him.

“Which girl?” Multiple groupies had surrounded the band the last time they’d toured, too many for David to keep track of. It had been one of their few morale-boosters. Even if no one was buying Spinal Tap records, at least they were still popular with women. Of course, being in a committed relationship, David had been less... boosted than the others. 

“Was it that dark-haired one you picked up in Boston, the one who stole my haircare products?” 

“What?” Nigel said, bemused. “Nobody stole your haircare products.” 

Emphatically David shook his head. “Oh yes, someone did. Because I remember that morning, I went in to have a shower, and all the little shampoo bottles that I’d taken from the hotel in New York had been replaced by identical shampoo bottles from the hotel where we were staying.” 

“Well I’m sure it wasn’t _her_ who did it,” Nigel said, after briefly considering the situation. “She wasn’t the one I was talking about, anyway. I meant Jerri, from New York.” 

“Oh, Jerri the Magnificent!” Visions of her long legs and her nice smile warmed David’s heart. “God. She was aptly-named.” 

Nigel hummed in apparent pride. “I bet you wish _you’d_ gotten some of that.” 

David chuckled. “You can chain a dog up in the yard, but you can’t keep him from barking at the cars that pass by.” 

Nigel glanced directly at David, raising his eyebrows. “You sure were barking at that bird we met the first night, weren’t you?” 

“Nigel, we’re in a band that’s written songs about Satan and at least five of the deadly sins,” David said dryly. “If you’re expecting purity out of me, you’d best look elsewhere.” 

Nigel chewed on his gum. “Didn’t you ever think of Jeanine?” 

_What an odd question_. Not only was David pretty sure that Nigel had never been invested in his relationship with Jeanine, but if he was trying to moralize, he was being awfully hypocritical, considering his track record. But knowing Nigel, he was just curious more than anything. 

“Not around _her_ , no. She reminded me of—” 

“Your mum.” 

“No!” David shuddered. “Perish the thought! She reminded me of Mary.”

“The mother of Jesus??”

“Not _that_ Mary.” David craned his neck upwards to meet Nigel’s eyes. “Mary of the fourth form, who we sat next to in primary school.” 

Recognition filled Nigel’s voice. “Ohhhhhh, yeah, Mary. Oooh.” His eyes glazed over, deep in reminisce. “I don’t know how we got any work done around her.” 

“Quite a looker, that one,” David agreed. So much that even Jeanine couldn't hold a candle to his rose-colored imaginings. _I wonder what she’s up to now?_ “Young love. There’s nothing sweeter.” 

“You can say that again,” said Nigel. 

“Young love. There’s nothing sweeter.” David snuggled up under Nigel’s blanket mound, astonishingly content. “Who was your first, Nige?” 

“What?” 

“Your first. The moment a young man’s fancy turned to thoughts of love.” It had been so long, David wasn’t sure if he could still remember. Nigel had always been rather private about his relationships, or at least he’d tried to be. David was usually the only band member who got to meet his girlfriends, and even then there were large amounts of time where Nigel’s dating life remained a mystery. 

“Oh.” Nigel quietly picked up a new stick of gum and unwrapped it. “I don’t remember.” 

“Oh, come on.” David tossed his head, noting as he did so that his headache was subsiding. “You never forget your first.” 

“Um.” Nigel took out his gum and wrapped it in the now-empty wrapper, before popping the fresh stick into his mouth. He seemed to be deliberately avoiding David’s gaze. “I don’t...” His eyes flickered towards the TV. “What were we talking about again?” 

_Good lord._ If David hadn’t been lying down, he would have hid his face in his hands. The urge to comment on Nigel’s questionable intelligence seized him, but he stopped himself in his tracks, remembering how Nigel had complained the night before that such comments hurt his feelings. This wasn’t an absent-minded lapse anyway- this was Nigel trying to avoid revealing information that suddenly interested David to no end.

“I don’t know why you’d be embarrassed,” he said. “I’m sure it’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” 

“I’m not embarrassed,” Nigel shot back. “It’s just—” Frustration contorted his face. “It’s just, I don’t really want to say, because, um... it’s the same now as it was...” He trailed off, pointedly refusing to look away from the TV. 

The statement completely blindsided David. Though Nigel hadn’t finished, David got the gist of it very well. _He’s still in touch with someone from back then?_ Nigel had always had more of an emotional attachment to Squatney than David did, going as far as to write the song “Hell Hole” about it. But David had always assumed the girl mentioned in the song was fictional. _Otherwise I’d know about her_. 

“Really? Who would that be?” 

“David,” Nigel quietly warned. 

“I’m just curious- you’ve never mentioned her before. Have you?” 

“David, please don’t make me—” 

“Don’t act like it’s all a big secret. I promise I won’t judge you. I’m bound to know her—” 

“Well you _do,_ but it’s a him,” Nigel broke in. 

If Nigel’s initial statement had blindsided David, this one left him completely blitzed. The images of pretty girls they’d known as schoolchildren transitioned into those of the lads they’d once hung out with. _Surely he’s joking!_ He had to be.

“Nigel, be serious. You’re not really...” Not really what? A bleedin’ poofter, as Derek might say? David knew that he wasn’t. He’d seen Nigel lust after women more times than he could count. But he’d sounded dead serious, which for a person like Nigel was a tall order. 

“I said I didn’t want to talk about it,” Nigel said loudly. He flicked off the TV in a huff and lay down. “Nothing good on tonight.” 

David tried to say something- anything- but Nigel rolled onto his side away from David, taking most of the blankets with him. He turned out the light, plunging the room into darkness. As the silence settled in, all David could think of was how distant Nigel suddenly seemed from him, and how much he missed the heat of his body lying mere inches away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Wha' Happened" is a reference to the movie A Mighty Wind (which, if you haven't seen it, is basically Spinal Tap turned down from 11. It's a masterpiece). Also, David's comment about "you can chain a dog up" was lovingly borrowed and modified from my favorite sitcom, Spin City; and "Mary of the Fourth Form" is the name of a song by The Boomtown Rats.
> 
> Concluding this story on Friday: another morning after is navigated (with less awkwardness this time), and Spinal Tap’s album finally sees release.


	7. Chapter 7

An epiphany jolted David’s system the next morning, much like the sunlight dancing across his closed eyelids. 

_Who else has Nigel known for as long as he’s known me?_

What he registered next was the comforting weight of an arm slung over his chest. Following that was an absolute _ache_ for something to drink. David reluctantly cracked his eyes open, to find himself staring into Nigel’s beatific face. He was fast asleep, his head tucked under the crook of David’s arm and his arms wrapped tight around him, as if David were a giant teddy bear. Somehow, they’d come crawling back to each other, just like they had the morning before.

Instead of feeling humiliated, though, David was put off by the fact that he was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. He hadn’t even thought of changing before he’d gotten into Nigel’s bed, mainly because there was nothing to wear in this room that wasn’t Nigel’s. But there was no point in focusing on that now. His need for water was unbearable, a cause for alarm greater than his rumpled clothing or his half-naked best friend lying on top of him. He’d find something to quench the raging thirst, and deal with Nigel later. _Now there’s a thought._ Nigel was rarely, if ever, dealt with _later_. 

Searching the room, David discovered a half-filled glass of water on the nightstand. He guessed Nigel had gotten up to get it in the middle of the night, because he didn’t remember it being there earlier. Right next to it, like a gift from God, sat the bottle of ibuprofen. The only problem was that David would have to reach around Nigel to get to the items, and he didn’t want to wake him, because that would defeat the whole purpose of dealing with him later. He stretched out the arm that Nigel was currently lying under, but his fingertips hardly reached the glass’s surface. _Fuck_. If he didn’t get that water soon he was bound to die of dehydration.

As carefully as he could manage, David shifted positions, angling both himself and Nigel closer to the edge of the bed. He started to reach out again, but froze as Nigel stirred against him, muttering something that David’s ears could only make out as “mmph?” 

“Shh,” David whispered, and- god, was he really stroking Nigel’s hair? _No time to unpack that one._ Survival instinct was David’s first priority. Again he reached out, and this time his fingers gingerly brushed against the glass. _Come on_... Straining, David just barely managed to grab the glass. His heart soared as he lifted it. _Yes!_ Carefully he lifted his head to gulp down the fresh, smooth taste. As the water hit the back of his throat, he felt his whole body rejoice. Ambrosia could not have a sweeter taste.

David had the urge to finish the water then and there, but he forced himself to stop. There was still the matter of the pills to attend to. He grabbed the pill bottle and unscrewed the cap, before removing two pills from its interior. His stomach rumbled as he downed them. Pills usually worked better on a full stomach, but his appetite hadn’t returned, and besides, he wasn’t going to wait around for room service when his head ached. Just the knowledge that he’d taken the painkillers made him feel a bit better. 

Which, last but not least, brought him to Nigel, who hadn’t woken up during the entirety of David’s escapade. 

A sudden onset of shame thundered down on David, as if he’d just settled for and spent the night with a particularly unattractive groupie. This was the second morning in a row that he’d woken up with his best friend and bandmate beside him, and this time there was no case of mistaken identity on which to blame it. What disturbed him more than the mere situation was how calm he felt. Gone was the panic from yesterday morning, to be replaced by an unusual sense of serenity. If this trend continued... David didn’t think he’d mind it. 

But he _had_ to mind it, after Nigel’s late-night confession that he was in love with a man who it now seemed blindingly obvious was David. Which opened up a brand new can of worms, because there was no way David could return the sentiment. He was as straight as a man who’d once taken fellow men to bed could be. But those exploits had been about finding himself, as it were. He’d searched and searched and what he’d come up with was a red-blooded male who enjoyed the company of women as much as any man should. On the other hand, Nigel had apparently come up with a man who yearned for his lead singer, although he shagged women just like David. And somehow David had never had an inkling, even though they were friends and they were supposed to be able to tell each other everything. 

David had no more time to ponder these thoughts, because the man in question was beginning to stir under his arm. Nigel pulled his arm away from David and raised his head. David hoped his deer-in-the-headlights look didn’t mean that he felt as much shame over last night as David did. 

“Hello, Nigel.” 

Nigel ran his hand across his face and into his hair. “Hullo, David.” He pulled away and sat up, tiredly rubbing his eyes. David sat up as well, already missing the warmth that Nigel had provided him. His stomach churned a bit with the movement, but the room wasn’t spinning, so David figured he could live with that. 

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” he said as Nigel turned on the lamp. 

“Not necessarily.” In the meager light that the lamp provided, David could see how much healthier Nigel looked. He’d already seemed to be on the mend the night before, but now his energy and vigor had fully returned. It was enough for David to want to ask if he felt like coming down to the studio and picking up a guitar, but he refrained. This was an inopportune time to discuss business. 

“I’m serious,” he said instead. “People will talk.” Then why was _I could get used to this_ his overwhelming emotion?

Nigel chuckled, apparently unconcerned, as he reached for something on the nightstand. But his amusement quickly turned to a frown when his fingers closed around empty air. 

“You drank my water.”

“ _Your_ water?” As David fumbled for the empty glass, Nigel’s face rapidly darkened. 

“I don’t believe this. After I _told_ you not to take my stuff without asking?” 

“Nigel, I’m sor—" 

“Don’t.” Nigel held up a silencing finger. “Just don’t, all right? I don’t want your hypocrisy to make me sick again.” 

_Good god_. David wanted to groan. “Well excuse me if I didn’t feel like waking you up to ask your permission to replace my bodily fluids.” His frustration grew as Nigel looked away from him. “I was up half the night vomiting. Your water saved my life!” 

Nigel looked back, mild curiosity piercing his expression. “How are you feeling now?” 

“I—" Nigel's sudden gentleness nearly gave David whiplash. He quickly assessed himself. “I do feel a bit better.” 

“Good.” Nigel gave David’s shoulder a brief rub with his knuckles. “So do I.” 

What followed was the sound of silence. Now that trivialities had been dispensed with, the elephant in the room lingered, trumpeting loudly into David’s ringing ears- _so how does Nigel feel about last night, hm?_ If it were up to David, he would have buried the whole affair, except he couldn’t ignore it when he and Nigel were sitting right next to each other. 

In the end, Nigel beat David to the punch. “Did you really think I was Jeanine the other morning?” 

David said nothing for a moment. Yes, he really had been mistaken the other morning. He’d been half-asleep and had forgotten where he was and with whom he’d spent the night. But that didn’t explain why he hadn’t shoved Nigel away when he found him clinging to his side like a barnacle. That didn’t explain why part of him wished Nigel wasn’t awake and hadn’t ruined the moment. 

In the end, he decided to ignore the question and counter with, “Have you really had feelings for me since you were a child?”

The deer-in-the-headlights look appeared again. David couldn’t tell if Nigel was taken aback by the fact that David remembered last night’s conversation, or the fact that he’d dared to bring it up.

“Where’d you hear that?” he asked.

“You just _told_ me—” David cut himself off before he could explain any further. It wasn’t worth the trouble. Nigel knew full well where David had heard it, he just thought that pretending not to know would force David to pretend too. _Well, tough luck_. 

“It’s true or false, Nige. Just pick one.” 

Nigel thought it over for a while, before drawing a breath. “Well, it isn’t really. It hasn’t been since I was a _child_ , and... it hasn’t been... _since_ I was a child either.” His voice got quieter, more bashful. “I haven’t spent twenty years going, _oh, David is so big and strong, if only he’d give me the time of day for once in my miserable life!”_

“Of course not, that would be absurd,” David said slowly, a bit put out. _So I wasn’t good enough for him?_

“But... at some point in twenty years… you _did_ feel that way?” 

“Not like that,” Nigel said, chuckling. “It’s- it’s hard to talk about, innit?” 

_Only you can answer that_. “Tell me anyway.” 

“Well, all right.” Nigel sobered up. “It’s... sometimes when I’m single, and sometimes when I’m _not_ single, and almost every time we’ve been on tour... that’s when I feel it.” 

David waited, but when nothing seemed forthcoming, he gave Nigel a verbal prod. “What do you feel?” 

“Well, I... I dunno. It’s like, you’re not just my best mate. You’re not like my brother. You’re something more. Something better than all that.” Despite himself, Nigel smiled softly, his eyes downcast. He had a nice smile, David decided. It was something he’d always known, but never really thought about before. 

“I know what it is.” David couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face. “I’m the bloody lead singer of Spinal Tap. Who wouldn’t be attracted to this?” 

Nigel grabbed a pillow and shoved it in David’s face. David thought he saw Nigel rolling his eyes, which would be a first for him, but he couldn’t determine if he’d imagined it or not. He flung the pillow back at Nigel, aiming straight for his moony grin. But he put too much force behind the throw and sent it hurtling to the floor.

"Ohhh, you bugger!" Nigel exclaimed. "You've really done it now!" He leapt upon David, bowling him over into the mattress, his hands forming manacles around David's wrists. If it hadn't been for the smile painted across his face, David might have been terrified. As it was, he groaned, his stomach protesting the rough treatment. "Stop it!"

"Oh, sorry..." The instant Nigel let go, David grabbed the other pillow and beaned him over the head with it. Nigel burst out laughing, collapsing beside David in a heap of mirth.

"God, I love you, D--" He cut himself off, gasping for breath. David's heart stopped in its tracks.

Of all the things Nigel could have said... David's mind went entirely blank on how to respond. If there was anything he hated saying more than “I’m sorry,” it was definitely those three little words. He hadn’t told Jeanine he loved her until they’d been seeing each other for half a year. Sure, he’d known Nigel for fucking ever, much longer than he’d known Jeanine, but to say those words... He wasn’t ready. He’d never thought he would have to be. 

It occurred to David then that he hadn’t thought of Jeanine all morning. If she’d tried phoning, he’d missed it. Though perhaps she’d given up after her previous attempts had been stymied. David supposed he ought to feel more upset about that than he did, which was not very upset at all. 

He turned his attention back to Nigel, who seemed to be awaiting a response. _Well, of course he is_. He’d just told his best friend that he _loved_ him, for Christ’s sake... Who wouldn’t want to hear it back? 

“Nigel...” David struggled to find the words that would let him off the hook and express the way he felt without actually having to say it. Nigel’s blue-green eyes shone with inner light. _He really is rather cute, isn’t he?_ That silly wide-eyed stare, his funny messy hair, his goofy little lips and his chin... His was a face that David had seen thousands of times, and yet, he couldn’t get enough of seeing it. 

He wasn’t aware that he’d leaned in until Nigel pulled away. “Wait—” He slipped his finger into his mouth, fishing out his gum, and at the sight of it David’s stomach twisted. 

“Fuck—” 

He was just barely able to lean over the side of the bed, reaching for the bowl that Nigel had laid out the night before. The water that he’d drunk earlier came back up in a wrenching flash. All the while, Nigel stayed beside David, holding his hair back with one hand and rubbing his back with the other. And that said more than three words ever could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reference to David experimenting with men comes from [ this deleted scene](https://youtu.be/CgmWhDi4kBw?t=2283) from the movie. I'm thinking of writing a one-shot inspired by that.


	8. Chapter 8

_London, April 1985_

“Attention, please!” The sound of a spoon tapping against a champagne glass dulled the room’s chatter. Those in the center of the floor backed away to give Ian Faith a wide berth as he strode forward. “I’d like to have everybody’s—“ He broke off as one particularly forceful blow shattered the glass in his hands. “ _Bugger_.” 

“He could have used one of your folding glasses,” David whispered in Nigel’s ear. 

Nigel shifted uncomfortably. “You know I haven’t got the patent yet.” 

There were several reasons to feel uncomfortable, David decided. First of all, some idiot- Ian, probably- had decided to make their single release party a black tie event, which meant that he, Derek, and Nigel were sweating in their tuxes. And that wasn’t just because they were hot. In just a few moments, Ian would reveal the current chart positions of “America” following its worldwide release earlier that day to a hungry audience of journalists, music execs, and waitstaff. The entire band was in attendance, even Jackson Phife and Jimmy Bellevue, whom it had been an honor to meet in person. All waited with bated breath for the results. It was even enough for the members of the press to stop pestering David over why a certain Mr. Tufnel was on his arm and not Jeanine Pettibone, which was a conversation David was not looking forward to having.

Ian cleared his throat. “I’d like to have your attention! In my hand are the rankings of Spinal Tap’s song ‘America’ in every country where it’s charted.” He fished out a crisp white envelope and held it aloft. “So with no further ado, I’d like to present them.” 

“He’s got a way with words, hasn’t he?” Derek murmured from the other side of Nigel. 

“I know.” David suppressed an eye roll. “Pure poetry.” 

Hastily Ian opened the envelope, while the journalists poised their pens over their notepads. As Ian unfolded the note within, David thought he detected a tremor in his hands. He raised his voice as the photographers began to snap pictures. “Malaysia- 96! Brazil- 90! Bulgaria- 78!” 

_Come on, come on_. This was nothing David hadn’t heard before. _Just give us the countries that count_. As if sensing his tension, Nigel laid a hand on his arm, which was almost enough to calm him, but not quite. 

“Scotland- 106! America...” Ian’s whole body suddenly stiffened, his back ramrod straight. He looked up from the paper with a wild smile and dancing eyes. “I don’t believe it! We’re in the top ten...” 

The room erupted into applause. Jackson came over to slap Ian on the back. Derek whooped and raised his fist triumphantly to the sky. Nigel threw his arms around David, and David eagerly squeezed him back, his heart pounding with exhilaration. _We finally did it! We won them back!!!_

“...of the Bubbling Under Hot 100!” Ian finished breathlessly. His grin didn’t dim as he lowered the paper and scanned the room for signs of celebration. But instead, the joy transitioned into befuddlement. 

“What does that mean?” David asked. Nigel shook his head, just as lost as David was. 

“Well, okay, so you’re at number 110 in the US,” Ian admitted. “But isn’t this great? We’re back on the charts!” 

Derek’s brow furrowed. “Ian, aren’t there only ten spots on that chart?” 

“Yes, but you don’t understand,” Ian insisted. “You made it!”

If the news had been announced a year or merely a few months ago, David would have raged. He would have cussed Ian out and possibly thrown a television set out the window. _Our song put them on the map, the least they could do is put us on the charts!_ But the ensuing discussion that he envisioned- _actually, I think it was Columbus who put them on the map_ \- just wasn’t worth it.

Besides, bubbling under was better than waiting to boil. 

“It’s good enough for me.” David raised his own glass, into which he’d poured sparkling water. “To America!” 

“Cheers!” In a flash, the celebratory mood returned. Derek, David and Nigel gathered around to clink their glasses together. They beamed with pride for their accomplishments. Once again, Spinal Tap had misjudged their swing when they’d aimed for the fences. But after all they’d gone through to make the album, David could only see this as the highest possible achievement. When Nigel’s arm snaked around his waist, he amended his thoughts- _The second-highest achievement_.

“Does anyone know where Jimmy is?” Derek asked when they were done toasting. “We ought to give him a chance to celebrate.”

Ian overheard the question as he approached the band. “Jimmy? Last I heard, he’d gone to the bathroom to throw up.”

“Oh Christ, not again,” Nigel said flatly.

“It’s not the curse,” Ian hastily attempted to assure Nigel. “I think it’s just a stomach virus.” 

“Oh Christ, not again,” Nigel repeated.

Ian hurried off in what David hoped was an attempt to locate Jimmy, but was more likely a search for more champagne. The three band members surveyed each other’s faces.

“D’you think we should go help him?” Nigel asked. “After all, David and I know all about this.”

“I’ll go find Jimmy,” Derek announced. “Save you a bad trip down memory lane.” He set off on a more promising journey, though David couldn’t confirm that he wasn’t just on his way to chat up one of the beautiful women in the room. He drew closer to Nigel, his mind flashing back to December and what a blessing in disguise it had been.

“It wasn’t all bad, was it?” Nigel said, as if he were reading David’s thoughts.

David shook his head. “Without that virus, I don’t think we’d have ever…”

“Yeah.” Nigel contemplated that for a moment. “So you want to help Jimmy, then?”

David shuddered. “Not on your life.”

With hands and hearts full, they plunged into the adoring crowd.

THE END. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who read this super self-indulgent little fic. I had fun writing it and I hope y'all had fun reading it, too.
> 
> I’m planning on writing a couple more one-shots for this fandom/pairing, so if you liked this one, stay tuned for more! And don’t forget to check out my earlier fic, “All the Way Home.”


End file.
